


Born From The Ashes

by TORUKAisJUSTICE



Series: The Art of Not Finishing Shits [5]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Broken Taka, Broken Toru, Guns, M/M, Violence, please just look at the HTMHF tags coz I still suck at tagging, tho I missed it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TORUKAisJUSTICE/pseuds/TORUKAisJUSTICE
Summary: “…but what will I do with the entire world, if the one I wanted the most is not there…?”





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How the Mighty have Fallen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462069) by [TORUKAisJUSTICE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TORUKAisJUSTICE/pseuds/TORUKAisJUSTICE). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...uhm...this is really embarrassing...like LOL WTF...what am I even doing...
> 
> Anyways, this comes from a prompt last month (yes it took a month to do this shit, I'm sorry) from Reicchi and Koneko-chan. They knows the...intended plot after HTMHF and had an idea for a car sex scene (because of the I Want A Billion song) and they told that to me. At first, I was reluctant coz I'm not sure if I can do it again...but you know, shit happens and before I knew it, I already agreed to write a one shot and promised that I'll do it on March.
> 
> It was supposed to be a one-shot with a car sex scene.
> 
> Hnnnn...
> 
> But I suck at keeping promises like that and before I knew it, I'm already whining to Reicchi that I'm already at the 6000-words mark and still no car sex scene...and then the 10,000-mark...I kinda tell her that it'll be over in 15, 000...but...yeah...20000 and still couldn't make it to that requested scene JESUS.
> 
> So, anyways, for me, HTMHF has already ended and this is just one of the many routes the characters could take. I don't like it to be called as sequel...coz it's darn shitty and fucking ugly (oh the woes and tears and anxieties), and I understand if people won't like this.
> 
> So, if you also think that HTMHF has already ended and that this shit would just ruin it for you, please, please don't read and tell me nasty stuffs in the end, okay? It took almost a week of pulling myself from the goddamned bottom before I finally decided to post this (of course, if those two kids didn't approve of it, this will be forever buried under the shits coz gaaaah it's so embarrassing). Somehow, along those days of writing, I realized how I missed this shit...missed writing the tags and notes and "Thank you for reading!" and the disclaimer...hnnn...
> 
> You will notice that the end is shitty but it's because it's not the end. Really. I cut it off because it's getting longer and I still haven't produced a nice ending, so I apologize in advance for that. 
> 
> As usual, constructive criticisms are most welcome~ Also suggestions and ideas would be very much appreciated.
> 
> So, without further ado...
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. ONE OK ROCK and all the character mentioned is not and will never be mine. This is merely a work of fiction so please don't sue me.

_“Have you heard the rumors?”_

_“What? The oyabun was gravely injured during the mafia wars?”_

_“I think that’s not true…”_

_“Hai, the Satoh-gumi was completely annihilated and we saw their Boss’ corpse…”_

_“But we never saw the leader’s face since then.”_

Heavy, steady footsteps echoed in the empty hallway outside the conference room. Men clad in dark suits, the black fabric billowing behind them as they walked towards the place of the meeting with the air of confidence and oozing authority.

 

“Maybe _he’s dead_.”

 

There was a collective gasp among the crowd gathering around the long conference table. The room was dark, thick, heavy curtains were drawn to block the sunlight from the tall glass wall.

 

_“He can’t be dead! The clan just reclaimed its standing at the top, so if the leader’s dead, how can that happen?”_

_“Maybe his right-hand men—,”_

The green curls bounced with every step he takes, along with the man with blond hair tied in a ponytail. They exchanged meaningful looks, lips split wide with toothy grins as they followed the man leading that small entourage of yakuza’s.

 

_“Those two are skilled to kill, not to rule.”_

_“What about his whore?”_

Far behind the small crowd is another man—smaller and frail-looking, his almond-shaped eyes almost completely hidden by the dark, unruly locks. He was walking slowly, leisurely but his eyes never left the strong, broad back of the leader.

 

_“His eye candy?” one scoffed, “My men say he’s still around.”_

_“See? If the slut’s still in the main house, then maybe the Boss is just there, recovering.”_

_“For months?”_

_“Maybe he’s bedridden.”_

_“Maybe he’s hiding.”_

_“Maybe he’s got some permanent injury,” someone said, making the entire room hush in worry and alert, a few grievous sounds, “Maybe the mighty Yamashita Toru had finally fallen—,”_

 

_BLAG!_

 

Everyone visibly jumped in surprise when the heavy twin mahogany doors were parted open, revealing the familiar faces of the leader’s most trusted men. It’s not a rare occurrence for Kanki Tomoya and Kohama Ryota to seat at board meetings, _more frequently_ after the war with Satoh-gumi; but there was something _different_ in their auras today. Everyone gulped, exchanging worried and confused looks as the two yakuza practically thrummed with energy, huge grins plastered on their lips and their eyes were scanning the room— _like predators surveying their preys and competitors_ —and when they deemed that it was safe, they parted to give way for the person standing behind them.

No one could contain their surprised gasp at the sight of a familiar— _very frighteningly familiar_ —mop of red hair as the man confidently strode into the dark room. He was wearing his usual black suit, the fabric billowing as he takes confident strides toward the executive chair at the head of the conference table.

Everyone has _been wrong._

The leader is not recovering, not bedridden, and obviously not hiding.

He was there, _flesh and blood_ —his dead-bored eyes scanning every faces in the room—ice-cold and merciless—before he sank on his seat with the regality only the Boss could muster.

The leader is _here_ —alive and breathing and ready to devour everyone. The man who hadn’t showed his face for almost a year, the person who had single-handedly killed Satoh Takeru, along with his clan—the one who reunites the lower families and made them all his supporters—the most powerful—

_The mightiest of them all—_

The redhead yakuza propped his elbows on the table, leaning on it before a small smirk lazily made its way on this thin lips, “Well, what do we have here? It’s been a long time, everyone.”

_—is back._

* * *

 

 

Toru couldn’t remember how many times he had stopped himself from yawning that day. This is _deadass_ boring—sitting in a plush chair and _pretending_ to care about people babbling about stocks and trades and market shits for hours— _or days? Maybe he’s been here for days already_ —is boring.

Although he was given a crash course on how everything works—from the most mundane details to the most prized and confidential information about the clan. They had educated him. Ryota and Tomoya had _made sure_ that he knows everything—that no one would suspect that he had woken up, after months and months of being in coma, _without_ his memories.

* * *

 

 

“It’ll create a huge shit, Aniki,” they said once, but Toru doesn’t care, his mind is wandering somewhere else—his body craving for _someone_ else’s presence at the moment, “If they’ll know about this, they would take advantage of that and will create another uprising.”

“You can stop them,” he said—his tone firm, more like declaring a statement and not merely asking—making the two fidget on their spot in his study room, “You did a good job while I was _asleep_ , didn’t you?”

“But Aniki…” Tomoya whined, the papers between his fingers crumpled against his tight clutch on it, “We had murdered hundreds of people back then—anyone who’s affiliated with the Satoh-gumi—elderlies, girls and kids— _innocent people_ —,”

His brow arched at that. What was this? Didn’t they have the ultimate loyalty towards the leader? Why are they complaining like bratty kids?

“But you did,” he said, “you killed them all to teach everyone a lesson.”

“All for the Yamashita Clan,” Ryota mumbled beside the green-haired man, “All for you, Aniki.”

Toru’s lips fell into a frown at that. All for his old, forgotten self, maybe. But now, Toru couldn’t see any sense for it. He doesn’t care if he’ll end up at the lowest pit, at the bottom of the hierarchy—as long as he’s with that _person…_

“And if it wasn’t for Taka-chan telling us to not give up,” Tomoya’s usually bright face scrunched up in disgust—like he had just eaten a bad food and was ready to throw it up any moment from now—Toru hopes that he won’t me vomiting his intestines out on his stacks of papers and expensive table—, “We’ll probably stop midway because it was too much.”

Toru glanced down at the papers on his table, but instead of letters and words and numbers, all his eyes could see was a vision of that man—Takahiro, _his Takahiro_ —wearing a bright red yukata. His barefoot was onto a glass—no, a shallow pool of water—

“There was too much blood.”

— _which suddenly turned red_ —the crimson liquid staining the otherwise creamy ankles. But it doesn’t diminish his allure, just by standing there and smiling kindly, softly, gently at Toru’s direction. His Takahiro looks so good, bathed and surrounded in red—with those smiles and vibrant, almond-shaped eyes—

 

* * *

 

 

“A-and uhm…uhm…”

He was brought back to his senses when the man giving his report suddenly stammered in front of everyone. He knows this man from the profiles Tomoya had asked him to memorize a few hours ago. Someone who’s taking care of their connections to the foreign sources of guns and machineries or someshit.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice was calm, yet carried across the room. Everyone immediately fidgeted on their seat, which is probably the only shit _worth_ watching in this pathetic excuse for a meeting—watching people flinch and shiver like scared puppies whenever the leader would speak, would raise his hand, or merely sweep his gaze across the room.

It was hilarious, and Toru was sure that his former self loves this. Love how people trembled beneath him, love how everyone turns away and bows their head when their gazes met in accident.

“The custom officers are not wavering…they’re asking for more and…”

There was a short, tensed silence that ensued after that, and Toru wanted nothing but to aim his gun and shoot the quivering mess of a man across him. He doesn’t have any time for this bullshits. There’s something—someone—who’s more worthy of his presence and attention. 

“Didn’t you already whined about that shit to Tomoya two weeks ago?” he said, leaning forward on his hands. He saw the man’s look of utter betrayal on the green-haired man standing behind him, “And you still haven’t done anything to resolve it?”

“But they’re—,”

“Or perhaps you’re thinking that since I’m not around, you can all fuck your ways into this organization, raking in money without actually doing your jobs?”

It was a question meant for all, and oh did his lips formed a wry smile when everyone suddenly glared at an invisible spot on their table. Guilty as charged, all of them.

“I’ve given you two weeks already,” he said before he rose from his chair, “Put someone else who would actually solve that shit. I want results by the end of the day.”

“Hai, Aniki,” Tomoya nodded, pulling the chair behind him.

“And Ryota,” he said, smirking at everyone who’s practically shaking in fear—frozen and unblinking onto their seats, “Take that man to the _warehouse_. I think he needs to learn some lessons about efficiency.”

His childhood friend grimly nodded, the entire room was then filled with cries and pleading from the man—but they were all turned to deaf ears as Toru padded towards the doors. Two suit-wearing men opened the doors for him, shutting it behind him and leaving him alone in that empty hallway.

Alone _but_ with the man standing across him, looking up at him with a bright, gentle smile. He was leaning on the wall, not caring if it will ruin his pristine suit in the process. His long curly hair was almost shrouding half of his eyes, but it couldn’t hide the strange glint from those pair of almond-shaped eyes looking dead-straight at him.

Like a predator.

_A pretty, strong-willed man-eater._

Toru shortened the distance between them, shoving his hands into the pocket of his slacks as he finally stood just a few inches away from the smaller man. The curly-haired yakuza—because he already is—looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, his hand rising to link his fingers around Toru’s nape. He sighed, instantly wanting to sink into that familiar warmth. He leaned closer, nuzzling the side of his cheeks and inhaling the scent of strawberries.

He had _always_ liked strawberries. And for some reason, he could always attribute the fruit with this man. Maybe they had done something with the juicy fruit in the past?

_He’ll never know._

The fingers at the back of his neck threaded through his magenta strands, playing with the short hairs on his nape, caressing his jaw before peering up at him under those mile-long lashes. _God_ , Toru’s chest feels like it’s gonna explode just by the sight of this person—so close, so fucking close he could almost taste him—he’s so pretty.

And he was his.

_He’s mine._

“You did a good job today, Toru-san,” he said, his voice rough and silky, whispering into his ear, “Thanks for your hard work. Let’s go _home_ now, okay?”

Toru nodded—obediently like a _child_ , like a _slave_ , like a _puppet_ following his master’s orders—as he hesitantly pulled away and gave a small distance between the two of them as they strode towards the elevator lobby.

_He’s mine—whether I’m him or not._

_Takahiro is mine._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well...how was that?
> 
> Thanks for reading~


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

 

He’s a _mystery._

Toru has decided that Moriuchi Takahiro is a walking mystery, like a huge puzzle that he needs to solve and decode to fully understand him and his actions. He was _there_ when he woke up, the only person who stayed while he was sleeping— _his beginning and all_. Maybe he’s a huge dumbass for instantly having a deep affection towards the boy—he’s years younger than me—but he just couldn’t help it.

Takahiro _mesmerizes_ and horrifies him at the same time.

He was kind. So _gentle and nice_ , cooking meals after meals and making sure that Toru would have a good rest after trying to learn everything about the clan. He would banter with Ryota and Tomoya as if they’ve known each other for ages, as if he was here right from the start.

As if he was the _boss_ and Toru was the stranger in that house.

_But it was alright_ , he guessed. If Takahiro and the other two are getting along just fine, then the day when he would be choosing between them would not come. Takahiro is important to him, but Ryota and Tomoya too. But when it comes to worst, he knows he gotta make a choice— _ah, I wonder on who will I shoot?_

He shrugged. He couldn’t really imagine the three being shot to death anyways.

Takahiro also have a lovely voice. Everyone told him how they first met, in one of their bars in Tokyo where the boy was…unfortunately playing. He was deeply captivated by his singing voice, so much that he eagerly decided that he’ll _have_ the boy that night—whether he likes it or not.

 

* * *

 

“So I smashed my guitar on your head,” Takahiro said off-handedly as he stopped playing his guitar—white and shiny, something that he himself has brought for the boy a year ago. Toru blinked. _Wow._ He wonders how it’s a miracle he didn’t ended up having a shitty amnesia back then. And judging by the darkness that the singer is emitting right now, Toru probably had it bad.

” Three times, just to make sure.”

_Make sure of what?_

He looked down on his laptop, not really sure on what to say, “…that must’ve been hurt.”

“I _hope_ so,” Takahiro shrugged and a small, bitter smile made its way on his full, supple lips, “I think I kicked you in the balls too.”

That. That must have _certainly_ hurt like fuck.

_So, Takahiro fight like there’s no tomorrow huh?_ Well, maybe he likes them _feisty_. Wants them squirming and denying the pleasure Toru was gracefully giving them—maybe that deadly stubbornness was the thing that attracted him to the boy back then?

“I should’ve have run faster back then,” he heard the man mumbled, and Toru was suddenly assaulted by this pain—something so foreign yet comfortably familiar by now—in his chest as he watched Taka’s face morphed with regret, with missed opportunities, with dejection and self-depreciation, “If I did…maybe… _maybe_ …”

  

* * *

 

 

Takahiro mesmerizes and _horrifies_ him at the same time.

Sometimes Taka would be so gentle and caring, allowing Toru to lay his pounding head onto his lap, and ease his pain with those nimble fingers threading through his fiery locks. But there’s also _some…_ instances that Taka showed a different side—mostly when they’re in the bedroom.

They shared a bedroom, although the younger man has his own room in this huge, empty house. Maybe because Toru craves for the other’s presence or maybe because Taka feels the same—he doesn’t really know. But whenever Taka would stagger into his room (he has a habit of falling asleep on the couch, after fiddling with his guitar), gathering Toru’s attention from the papers he’s signing, he would always feel a smirk forming on his lips.

Takahiro would always look disheveled, like he had just woken up from a horrible nightmare. His curly locks were messy, his sleeping yukata was almost slipping from his shoulder, revealing inches of creamy skin—still untainted by the great phoenix inked on his back—his eyes wide and frantically searching for Toru’s form.

And when those crazed eyes would land on his spot, he loves how Taka would immediately jump towards him, almost tripping on the hem of his yukata, wiping the table clear of papers and pens and anything else.

He would then seat on it, leaning down, caging Toru’s cheeks with his shaking hands and smashing his soft, full lips on Toru’s thin ones. _It’s always like this_ —the kiss would be hot, passionate, like Taka is trying to _devour_ him—his tongue daringly plunging into his mouth, licking and tasting and owning him as if he wants to dominate the leader. But after aggressively attacking his mouth, he would finally decide to take things into another route—his sinfully slick pink muscle would try and coax Toru in a play, a sensual dance of their tongues—

And well.

_Who am I to say no?_

This was Takahiro—

Toru surged forward, his hand landing on the base of Taka’s skull, angling their heads in a perfect position—their noses bumping, teeth scraping and nibbling their lips, their warm, moist breath fanning onto each other’s faces as they leaned away for a moment.

Toru looked up at the man with so much passion, _he wants him_ — _god_ he wants to shower him with kisses, touch every inch of his skin, and make him feel so _safe_ and _warm_ and _precious_ —

But said Takahiro was looking down at him with disdain and disappointment, his eyes narrowed, glinting accusingly—like Toru had done a grave crime by merely kissing him with all his heart. His pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flustered with a gorgeous shade of red, and his mouth—his perfectly soft lips were turned down in a frown.

“Kiss me,” he rasped out, his voice laced with anger and resentment and desperation, “Kiss me like you fucking _mean_ it!”

But Toru was confused. He doesn’t know what he means. He’s aware of their past—the intricately-laid plans, the deceptions, the baits and blackmailing’s that made their bond so simple yet so complicated at the same time. He was aware of his atrocities, his threats, his crimes—he was aware of everything so he must do something to _amend_ it right?

Don’t just fuck him like a lovely doll— _make love to him._

_Cherish him_ , pleasure him—not use him for his own release.

Mend him, fix him and not further break him into pieces.

He should do that right?

Right?

To atone for the sins his past-self had done to this person, to make up for those tears, the pain and sobs and bruises and mental scars.

But when Toru would reach out, cradling the feminine-like hands into his calloused one and gently, almost reverently, kissing each one of his knuckles, Takahiro’s brows would furrow, his eyes would glaze in _contempt_ —and if looks could kill, Toru would just combust right there and then. Taka’s lust-hazed eyes would cloud—his face torn between crying and lashing out, like he’s feeling sorry and yet so murderous.

It was a sight to behold.

“You’re _not_ him.”

Toru blinked, his eyes widening in confusion and realization—why? Why is he craving for _that_ man? The _man_ who had caused all of his miseries? Why?!

“You’re not him! _Give him back_!” and then the lashing out would start. Takahiro would pry his hands off, jump onto his lap to straddle him—his scrawny hands wrapped around the pale column of the leader’s neck.

_Kill_ , his mind told him, _kill the whore. He’s a threat to you._ The yakuza in him screams for blood, for punishment, for death _. If you won’t kill him, you’ll end up as a cold corpse one of these days._

_Kill him before he kills you._

But he couldn’t—even when Taka’s fingers tried to squeezed, even if breathing became harder as seconds ticked by, even if his visions turned hazy—all that Toru could hear was the sobs, the desperate pleas— _come back, come back, how can I punish you if you’re like this_ —all that Toru could see was his eyes, the pain on his face, the tears dropping like rain on his cheeks—

And even if he’s almost dying at the man’s hands, he still couldn’t tear his gaze away from Takahiro.

How _enthralling_ , how dangerous.

_And he’s mine—all mine—_

“Give him back…I know he’s still _in_ there so please…. _please_ …”

And then the force around his neck would be gone, breathing would slowly come back to him, his vision and sense getting clearer. But Taka would already be gone, he’s staggering his way back towards the door, slamming it loud and hard behind him like a complete sulking child.

A kid who didn’t got what he wanted.

And for some fucked up reason, Toru’s fingers would trace the marks that would surely form on his throat tomorrow. It stings, he never knew that Taka could have such a strong grip but hey, _he smashed a guitar on my head and kicked my balls before so maybe the boy has some more into him than his pretty looks._

And that haughty attitude—suddenly coming into his room and leaving like a brat—it amazes him. How his older self could tolerate that blatant display of disobedience, of disrespect and let’s not forget the _obvious_ attempt to murder him with his bare hands.

And before he knows it, Toru is already chuckling, his chest reverberating with that unfamiliar sound as he glanced at the innocent door where Takahiro had disappeared to.

_He’ll be mine_ — _I’ll suffocate him with love and sweetness and gentles…until he forgets that man completely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~!


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: OOR is not and will never be mine. Please don't sue me.

 

Toru lazily read the reports sprawled on his desk. He hates this, doing all the paper works in his free time. When he woke up months ago and people told him that he was the leader of the most powerful yakuza family, he thought that he would be living a carefree life— _alcohol, sex, and blood-filled nights_ would fill his schedule. But to his immense displeasure, tons of papers were shoved down his table by none other than his most-trusted people.

“There’s a lot of stuff you missed, Aniki,” Tomoya beamed, his smile warm and genuine, as he put another stack of papers on his desk. Toru blankly stared at the green-haired man and was a moment from fishing his gun and cocking it towards the impudent little shit, but then Takahiro was suddenly leaning down—his arm gripping the table supported his body as his free hand landed on the backrest of Toru’s swivel chair—effectively caging the red-head yakuza with his smaller frame.

“Besides,” Takahiro said, smiling sweet— _sickly sweet_ —down at him, “I need you to sign some papers for me, too, Toru-san,” he said before fluttering his eyes, his dark lashes batting on his creamy cheeks—and oh did Toru thought that this boy is so well-versed in that kind of game—, “If you finished quick, maybe we could eat a dinner together. All of us—,”

Tomoya instantly perked up at that statement, “ _Yosha_ —,”

“The two of us,” Toru glared at the man, instantly making Tomoya pout and sulk under his burning gaze, before his cold eyes turned their attention back to Takahiro’s amused face, “Dinner for the two of us, without those idiots who have bottomless stomachs.”

Takahiro nodded, smiling for a moment before leaning away, “Sure. Whatever you want, Toru-san.”

_Whatever I want, huh…_

Toru doesn’t even know what he wants. Nor what _Takahiro_ actually wants. It’s frustrating, and maybe he should really go out for tonight, go to clubs after clubs and explore the shits he had been doing before getting caught up with the mafia wars before.

“…successfully annihilated all attempts from sympathizers for the Satoh-gumi. The body count is…”

He sighed. It has been months since the war has ended and yet there are still a few people here and there who obviously wants to avenge the said clan _. They’re idiots_ , Toru mused as he crumpled the paper. Idiots who obviously wants to die faster than everybody else just because of what?

Avenging that man?

Toru frowned and leaned back on his swivel chair as he raked his brain for any information about the head of the Satoh-gumi. He doesn’t have much, just some shits Tomoya and Ryota have filled him in. Apparently, Satoh was a childhood friend, someone who was with him from the moment he overthrew his brother. They’re like friends and rivals all at the same time, co-existing over a very delicate balance—which was tipped off when Takahiro came into the picture.

Takahiro has been kidnapped once, and that fool Satoh planted some nasty stuffs into his brain—about betraying and killing Toru. That _fox_ —it was the crest of the family, he discovered—even offered Takahiro freedom from Toru’s hands but failed miserably when he was shot dead by the singer.

A small smirk formed on Toru’s lips as he stared at the small center-light hanging from the center of the ceiling. The thought of Taka— _his sweet, fragile Takahiro_ —holding a gun and firing it— _multiple times,_ mind you—towards Satoh Takeru always makes him feel this odd sense of pride, of satisfaction and a _very disturbing desire_ to see him in action.

If only his memories weren’t wiped out—then he would be able to recall Takahiro, broken and battered yet with eyes shining with fierce loyalty after he had chosen Toru over the Satoh Takeru.

_Fuck this amnesia shit._

He couldn’t even remember how Satoh looks, but he bets he _looks better_ with his bullet-ridden body. If Toru could only have the power to bring him back into the world of the living, he’ll do it—and kill him again for all the shits that he caused.

 

* * *

 

 

“I almost suck his cock—,”

Toru was glad that he wasn’t drinking anything the moment those words flew out of Takahiro’s mouth one night when they’re dining with Tomoya and Ryota. The two yakuza’s heads snapped towards their leader nervously while Takahiro merely continued eating his ramen as if he didn’t just drop a fucking bomb.

A nuclear bomb.

And Toru was instantly ready to wage a goddamned _war_.

They were talking about the horrors Satoh Takeru had done in his life and somehow, the boy probably thought that it was a _nice_ information to add to their casual talk.

“ _Ano_ , Taka-chan—,”

Toru glared at Tomoya before looking at the curly-haired man once more, “What do you mean by that, Takahiro?”

The man gave him an annoyed side-glance, “You deaf _shit_ ,” Tomoya and Ryota visibly winced on their seats at the crude words, “I said I almost suck his cock—,”

“Watch your language—,”

“—dick, penis— _ochinchin_ , you fucker,” he said, his almond-shaped eyes boring holes through him over the rim of his rice bowl, “But I couldn’t do it coz Tomoya went to rescue me.”

He gave a wry _“we’ll talk-about-this-later”_ look at his right-hand man. Tomoya looks like he’s gonna piss in his pants right there and then.

“It’s not really the right way to talk to Aniki,” Ryota simply said before digging on his ramen once more. It’s always like this, but Takahiro didn’t seem to mind getting chastised every now and then, and the two idiots doesn’t seem to mind Taka’s blatant disrespect for the boss (coz they’re still not pulling out their guns and threatening to gut Takahiro out).

“It’s not like I really care about that.”

“Why am I not aware of this?” Toru finally asked, making the three look at him with different expressions plastered on their faces.

“Uh…” Ryota shrugged, “Coz it’s not important anymore?”

“Coz you’ll probably hunt everyone who _says_ Satoh-gumi’s name and kill all of them in pure rage?”

“Pffft,” Takahiro snorted, “It’s not like you can feel anything about that incident. You can’t even remember that one time when you actually asked me to suck him—,”

Tomoya and Ryota watched as half of his chopsticks snapped and flew into the air.

_WHAT._

“—before you made me touch myself in front of your childhood friend,” Toru’s vision went red—ugly, _bleeding crimson_ —as Taka gave him a sad, dissatisfied smile, “...so knowing about those stuffs doesn’t make any difference.”

Why.

Why did he even do that? Was it true? Did he really— _oh god_ —just by thinking that other people had touched this man, just by imagining that another set of hands had played with his body, another cock has been pleasured by that mouth—just by thinking that someone else had seen those wanton emotions flickering on Takahiro’s face was too much—

Enough for Toru to silently seethe in anger.

What was his past self-thinking? Was it a form of punishment? For whom? For Takahiro for trying to betray him? Or for Satoh Takeru for trying to get his dirty paws on his property?

_Tch_.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want that shit to happen again— _ever_ —with or without his memories. Takahiro won’t be _kneeling_ , won’t be _touching_ , won’t be _bending_ over for someone else—other than Toru—and if the worst comes, Toru would never hesitate to lock him up, chain him on his bed—warm and waiting— _to ensure that no one else could see and touch him._

“I wonder,” he snapped out of his dizzyingly dark thoughts when Taka suddenly spoke—Toru just realizing that the man has been staring at him, probably for a long time now. His almond-shaped eyes were wide with curiosity, glazed with something faintly akin with longing and expectations. “I wonder what’s going through your mind right now, Toru-san…?”

Toru sank back on his seat, laying the remains of his chopsticks on the table as he gave Takahiro a lazy glance.

He had changed.

_I’ve changed._

_I’m not that man anymore_ —the one who locked Takahiro up in a dark room, taking triumph at the haunting sounds of his wails and sobs and pleas. Tomoya had made him watched that footage, and it made him _sick_.

How can he do that to someone as precious like him?

_Coz you’re a merciless, jealous son-of-a-bitch._

Toru ignored that voice and just stared at his now cold meal. He won’t repeat the same crimes his past-self had committed—in fact, he’ll erase them because Takahiro deserves so much _better_.

And Toru would be more than glad to give everything for him.

* * *

 

“Oh,” Takahiro softly mumbled in surprise when he saw Toru lounging on the huge bed in the room. He was dressed in his usual black suit, his hair even messier like a very strong wind had just ruffled it on his way home. The man probably didn’t expect him to be at home at this hour, hence the shocked look on his face as he closed the door behind him. “You’re _here_.”

Toru arched a brow at that reaction. _Was he not supposed to be here?_

“This is my house,” he simply said as he glanced down at his phone, the harsh light illuminating his cold features amidst the semi-darkness of the room, “Why are you acting like you’ve seen a _ghost_?”

He was too occupied on the scripts written on the screen to notice how Taka’s almond-shaped eyes practically roamed on his frame. He was leaning on the headrest, wearing a half-buttoned white short, the sheets pooling on his waist. He knows that his bright magenta hair was tousled to no ends and that there’s a small frown—a bit like a sulking baby’s—was etched on his perfectly sculpted lips.

“W-well,” Takahiro said as he finally took a step away from the door and padded towards the walk-in-closet, “Tomoya said that tonight’s the opening of your newest high-end club.”

Oh?

_Was that a hint of jealousy I hear?_

Toru’s gazed landed on the retreating back of his—what? — _lover_. He calmly watched as Takahiro shamelessly started shedding off his clothes, layer by layer— _without any ounce of hesitation_ —slowly rivaling the expanse of creamy skin inked with a burning phoenix.

“There would be a lot of _girls_ in there.”

“There would be a lot of girls for _you_ in there,” the man countered as he bends over to grab his sleeping clothes from the drawer. Toru pursed his lips as Takahiro went inside the bathroom to change and dump his suit in the laundry basket. The show was only starting and yet the midget has already deprived him of seeing more skin.

_Oh, the woes._

It took a few minutes before Takahiro appeared once more—wearing a loose shirt and pants. He silently trudged towards the bed and sat on the edge, a few inches away from him and started fiddling with his phone. They look like an old _married_ couple, Toru mused. A couple who had lost the sparks of their romance and was just staying for the sake of being married to each other.

Toru’s brows furrowed.

“I’m not interested with them,” he finally said, effectively gathering the man’s attention. Takahiro peered up at him, blinking a few times, before shrugging.

“Even if you spout some shits like, _coz I already have my eyes on you_ , I still won’t let you fuck me with your _half-assed_ romantic shits,” he brusquely said. “I don’t need your gentle touches and loving kisses so you’re really free to fuck whoever you want if you’re horny or something.”

Toru inwardly smirked when the man’s voice cracked at the last part of that statement.

“What if I want to make love to you—,”

“Oh yeah?!” Taka suddenly snapped— _he’s one of his moods again_ , Toru thought—flinging his phone on the bed before moving to straddle Toru’s thighs. Toru calmly looked up, his blood sizzling with anticipation and excitement at the sight of burning eyes hotly glaring down at him. Taka looks so angry; Taka looks so _feral_ —like a lion ready to pounce for the kill. “You think you can give me _what I want_ , Toru-san?!”

Toru let go of his phone and let his hands land on either side of the man’s hips. Taka’s breath hitched at that, especially when his calloused fingers traced invisible circles on his clothe skin and oh did that sound so delicious on his ears.

“What do you want then, Takahiro?”

“ _Hard and fast_ ,” he said without even blinking an eye, “I want you to fuck me like the old times, make me cry and beg— _bruise me, hurt me_ —,” Toru swallowed hard when Takahiro’s shaking hands encaged his warm cheeks, leaning down until the tips of their noses were touching—, “Make me bleed, make me gasp for breath, make me feel those _feelings_ again—,” his eyes glazed over once more, like he’s lost in his own world of memories, “…make me feel _alive_ again, Toru-san. Can you do it?”

Of course, he can—he wanted to say. But at the same time, he can’t promise it. He doesn’t want to hurt him, don’t want ugly bruises to mark his skin, don’t want to see the red liquid seeping out of his flesh. Why was Takahiro being so difficult?

It’s frustrating.

Doesn’t he want to be loved properly?

_Cherished?_

_Treated preciously?_

Why is he asking for pain like…like it’s the only thing that could make him feel alive?

And all can do was to reach up, caressing the apple of Takahiro’s cheek in a gentle, soothing manner. He watched— _mesmerized_ —as the pretty shade of scarlet exploded on the creamy skin before pulling him down for a soft, tender kiss. Takahiro’s eyes went wide, before tears welled up as their lips locked in a chaste kiss—and before he can properly kiss the man, Takahiro was already pushing him away, grabbing a pillow and smashing it on his face—

“Fuck you!” he said, hitting him once more. Toru raised his arm to protect his face—because an angry Takahiro _would never hesitate_ to break his handsome face—, “How dare you?! How dare you do this to me?!” he screeched like a banshee. “After all that you did to me, you’re just—just—!”

Toru said nothing, accepting the hits, watching as pure white feathers burst out of the pillow case with every smash on his arm.

“What do I need to do to make _him_ go back?!” Taka cried, “What do I have to do to make you go back your old self!?”

_What if I don’t want to go back?_

_What if I don’t want him to go back?!_

And all of a sudden, the hits vanished. A pure, eerie silence erupted in the vastness of the room. It was chilling, but Toru couldn’t help himself from glancing at Takahiro’s tear-stained face. Taka was kneeling on the bed, hugging the now-empty pillow case close to his chest as his wide eyes flickered on Toru’s face. He’s planning something. Toru could practically hear the gears of his mind churning with that stare alone—and when Taka spoke—

“Maybe…” he said, swallowing hard and licking his plump lips once more, “…maybe I should let the _others_ fuck me—,” a grin—maniacal grin split the full lips, making Toru’s eyes turned into slits—narrowed, dangerous, sharp—, “maybe if you get possessive then—oomph!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Taka couldn’t even finish his words when Toru lunged for him. His hand gripped the younger’s jaws—tight and hard—as he pushed him on his back, the feathers littering on the bed fluttered all around them at the impact of his body against the soft mattress. Takahiro didn’t even bother to struggle, he just stared up at him—almond-shaped eyes impossibly wide, tears welling on the puffy rims, and his lips…

The motherfucking son-of-a-bitch is grinning triumphantly at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he growled out, pushing Taka even more on the bed, his fingers gripping the skin too tightly that it’ll surely bruise tomorrow, “You’re _mine_ —I will kill anyone else who touch you,” and with a more desperate tone, he added, “You’re mine!”

His grip tightened even more but aside from a soft grunt of discomfort, Takahiro made no move to push him off. He just accepted everything Toru gives to him and it infuriates him to no ends, those lovely eyes watching him with a taunting glaze.

“H-hah,” Takahiro softly breathed out, wincing with every breath he takes, “Walk the fucking talk, Toru-san…or you expect me to play the gentle, romantic lover to you now that you’re a _weak_ —,”

“Shut up.”

“— _useless_ —,”

“Shut up!” he pushed him down, Takahiro almost getting buried on the mattress as he glared down at him. Pain and remorse and guilt and anger and madness and confusion swirls within his mind as he watched Taka’s lips move to say the words that cuts through his chest like a fucking katana.

“— _fangless_ dragon!” Taka practically spat those words on his face before a taunting smirk formed on his lips.

“Shut the fuck up or else—!”

Takahiro leaned up on his elbows, baring his teeth and looking at him with a pair of challenging eyes, “Or else _what_?! You don’t have anything to blackmail me with anymore! Hiroki is dead! There’s nothing else to fear, especially from you—!” Toru’s chest ached with the disgusted and hateful look on Takahiro’s face, “—you worthless piece of shit! I wonder where is he? Where did the oh-so mighty leader of Yamashita clan had gone to?! Because right now, all I can see is a soul-less asshole who can’t even _properly fuck_ his whore!”

Toru abruptly let go of the smaller man’s jaw—as if he was scalded by a scathing piece of iron—and leaned back on his haunches. He was breathing heavily, the weight of those words pounding onto him like huge-ass boulders. He watched as Takahiro’s chest harshly moved up and down, watching him with anticipating eyes.

Toru gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as the last words rung to his ears like a stupid mantra.

_You’re not just a whore_ , he aggressively thought before he pulled back, going out of the bed before he furiously stalked out of the room, _why can’t you see that you’re not just a whore?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~!


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

Takahiro wasn’t there when he comes home the next day.

Toru’s eyes narrowed at the spotless, empty house, willing himself to maintain his composure as the silence greeted him ( _more like slapped him, actually_ ) like a huge, grubby hand. He was tired and everyone is trying to invite him out or into some motherfucker’s party but he’s already drained with all the shits in the headquarters. Add that to the fight he had with Takahiro last night, and he was oh-so ready to punch and _stab_ someone any moment from now.

Beside him, Tomoya paled like a ghost. He was tasked to follow the singer around but for some dumb reason, the midget still managed to escape him.

“He was…” Tomoya said, flinching when Toru’s icy glares diverted their attention to his frame, “He was in a meeting earlier…he excused himself to go out for a moment for some fresh air and…and…”

“Oh, Tomo-kun!” Ryota softly groaned behind him. _You’re gonna be so dead,_ was the unspoken warning from his childhood friend.

Toru’s eyes swept across the living room. It was dimly lit, pristine to immaculate perfection and silent—it was dead quiet—and for some reason, Toru doesn’t want that.

He _should_ be here.

He felt a twinge of pain in his chest as he recalled the afternoons in the last few months—where he would arrive, tired and head throbbing with a massive migraine—only to be greeted by Takahiro’s waiting form. He would be casually lounging on the couch, a guitar perched on his lap, strumming and humming—eyes looking afar, and the late afternoon sunlight casting soft shadows on his skin.

Taka looks ethereal like that, even if those calm almond-shaped eyes would immediately turn into sharp, piercing ones upon noticing that Toru’s already there and shamelessly ogling him.

“The fuck are you looking at!?” he would screech, put the guitar away before fixing his clothes and sauntering towards the kitchen, “get changed, all of you while I prepare dinner.”

Ah.

That was a lovely way to come home—the only reason why Toru doesn’t go out to clubs and parties at night—because he knows that Taka would be there waiting for him—no matter how much he loathes him, no matter _how many times_ he caught the singer looking at him with a sharp knife in his nimble hands—Takahiro would always be there.

“—but he’s not in danger!” Tomoya was saying, desperate and loud, “He called me saying that he’ll go out for a while and that we don’t have to worry about him—,”

“How many had seen his face, Tomoya?” Toru asked as he dragged his feet towards the single-seater couch. He leaned back, tilting his head on the backrest and closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his nerves. Takahiro might be able to go around, unnoticed, unknown if he’s still a civilian—but taking the Yamashita name and being seen countless of times either with him and his two closest men—

He’s like a _walking_ target.

The clan’s weakness exposed and vulnerable for everyone to take advantage of.

He’s there— _out in the dark, alone and defenseless_ —waiting for the predators.

Tomoya couldn’t answered straight-away. _Too many to count_ , was his silent response.

“Our men are already searching for him, Aniki,” Tomoya whimpered like a kicked-puppy on his spot, with Ryota patting his shoulder in sympathy. “I’m really sorry—,”

“Why was he even out in a goddamned meeting?!” his voice rose as he opened his dark eyes and gaze intently at the ceiling, “It’s not his job to attend any shit related to the business!”

“But it’s not related to our business, Aniki…”

Toru’s gaze whipped towards the direction of the green-haired yakuza, “What.”

“It’s not…Taka-chan has been doing a lot of stuffs since you were… _sleeping_ ,” he winced as Toru’s eyes narrowed even further, “He’s been organizing charities and the likes for people with…the same illness as his brother.”

If looks could kill, Tomoya would fucking drop dead right there and then at the intensity of Toru’s confused stare.

It’s like Takahiro alright—compassionate and the shits for the poor even if he already had shredded his innocence a few months ago. He’s already a yakuza—hands stained with blood and dirt and all the grime of the underworld and yet—

“Where the fuck he’s getting all the money for that?” he frowned, recalling the name of Hiroki’s illness—it’s not a cheap one to have, and to support multiple people having that needs a shit-ton of cash.

“From you, Aniki—,” Tomoya’s eyes lit up in shock as he clamped his mouth shut after saying those words.

_I’ve never given him money—in fact, he never asked something from me._

“What,” Ryota crossed his arms in speculation, “You think Mori-chan’s stealing from the Boss?”

They exchanged confused looks.

“Pffft!!! Ahahahahaha!!!” Ryota doubled over, clutching his stomach after a few moments of tensed silence, “As if Mori-chan can really do that!”

“Dude, Taka-chan killed Satoh-san,” Tomoya said, a smile playing on his lips, “And all of us never expected that.”

Ryota blinked and sheepishly straightened up, fixing his suit before wryly nodding his head, “Right.”

“I’m sure Taka-chan asked you about his little side-projects, Aniki,” Tomoya said, still in defense of the singer, “He always make you sign something, right?”

Oh.

Toru blinked, remembering the times Taka would stalk inside his study room, carrying folders of papers and asking him to sign it. He never reads the shit because well, it’s Takahiro. He’s probably just delivering stuffs from Tomoya or Ryota because the two were busy eating his meals.

He didn’t actually look at the papers, merely signed them—inwardly cursing when Takahiro’s fingers would run through his locks, gently, reverently—before grabbing the younger man’s collar and pulling him down with a kiss.

_Hnnnn_.

That’s probably why he’s so distracted while signing them—Takahiro being the devilishly seductive son of a bitch standing near and giving him fleeting touches.

“Whatever,” he combed his fingers through his hair as he breathed loud and deep, “I want him back as soon as you can. No one would rest until you find him—,”

“What will you do when we find Taka-chan, Aniki?”

Toru’s gaze lazily landed on Tomoya’s stern face. Ryota is also looking at him—his face taut and tensed, like he’s expecting a death sentence rather than an instruction from the leader.

Both of them knows what Takahiro had experienced when he was punished for trying to betray him. And Toru wants to laugh and amusement because at that moment, his most fiercely loyal men were looking at him as if he’s the _enemy_.

All because of Moriuchi Takahiro.

_Where did your unwavering loyalty had gone to, I wonder?_

“I’ll deal with him later but now,” he said before pushing himself off the couch, “I want his goddamned ass back into this house as soon as possible and tell everyone to not— _and I mean never_ —lay a fucking hand on what’s mine, you got it?”

“Hai, Aniki,” Tomoya said at the same time Ryota mumbled a quiet, “Whatever you want, Boss.”

Now, he sighed, his muscles screaming to do something to alleviate this bad feeling slowly creeping into his system, _where the fuck are you hiding, Takahiro?_

 

* * *

 

 

Two days.

It’s been two days since Taka decided to fuck off and goes into hiding from the Yamashita clan. Toru-san is being a huge pain in the ass— _not literally_ —these days and he wants to pay him back for being a great annoyance.

_Well, I think he’s going nuts by now…considering that it’s been two days…_

Takahiro hummed as he rearranged the white lilies in front of the stone marker on Hiroki’s grave. He knows that sooner or later, the clan would find him but he wants to spend some time with his brother—no—his entire family before going back to that hell hole.

Huh…

Taka’s fingers stopped fiddling with the bunch of flowers as he stared at the four markers across him—all bearing the Moriuchi name. Three of them were already worn out by weather and years, while the last one still looks new and polished.

_Hiroki’s_.

It was Hiroki’s grave.

“It’s been…” he softly mumbled, the wind gently blowing around him, tousling his messy locks and making a whistling sound across the silence of the cemetery, “It’s been a while, huh, Hiro…?”

It’s been months since he last came here. His mind—the still sane part of his mind couldn’t understand, couldn’t _comprehend_ that his brother’s ashes were buried under this very ground already. He can’t accept the fact that his once bubbly, kind and oh-so gentle brother is now reduced to pile of fine ashes.

_He should’ve never died that day._

Memories of that fateful day still haunted Taka—nightmares plagued his sleep, and sometimes, he can still see Satoh-san’s face in the crowd—looking at him, his lips pressed into a thin, amused smile while his eyes—

It was glinting with mischief.

_“You’ve actually done it.”_

Taka’s breath hitched at that as the images of the auburn-haired yakuza flooded his mind—there were gunshots, blood, splatter of brains and bones across the wall and the floor—the once good looking surgeon turned into a…exploding piece of blood and flesh in just a matter of seconds.

_“You’re already like us.”_

And sometimes… _sometimes_ , Taka would dream of the long-haired yakuza with his cunning eyes and annoying smile, telling him that there was no escape for him anymore. He had done it, had stained and bloodied his hands, and devoted himself in the name of the Yamashita clan.

There’s no _salvation_ for him anymore—no escape from the demon known as Yamashita Toru.

_As if I want to escape anyways_ , he snorted and brushed the fallen leaves littering on the grave. The moment he woke up after that day, he had yearned— _longed_ —for the leader’s return. He was patiently, agonizingly waiting for the day that the red-head leader would open his eyes and move his lips into the lazy smirk he’s always sporting—but it didn’t come.

Well, it did—after a few months—but brought a fucking shock to Taka’s life.

_He couldn’t remember me_ , he amusedly thought _, couldn’t remember all the shits he had done to me and to Hiroki…_

“It’s so unfair, you know?” Taka said to no one in particular, his fingers gripping the grass and playing with it, “He got interested in me, raped me, dragged me in his world and used me over and over again…he blackmailed me and punished me until I’m nothing but a caged pet…and he killed you…” Taka’s eyes glazed at that painful fact, “I know that it was Satoh-san who did the deed, but if he wasn’t there…Toru-san would definitely kill you too…and if that bastard didn’t kidnapped me that night, then you’ll be safe…still _living_ …still with me…”

Nimble hands gripped the blades of grass and pulled them from the ground in-- annoyance. His brother should be here! Alive and running around and living his dreams—not…not burnt into ashes, buried in the earth—

Oh _godohgodohgod_ —

“It’s all his fault,” he muttered, “It’s all Toru-san’s fault so…so…it’s really unfair that he would just…he would just put me out of way back then—,”

_He should’ve let me died that night._

Should have let Taka get the amnesia instead so that he’ll forgot all the pain, all the suffering, all the guilt that chained him down, but no. The bastard suddenly developed a hero-like nature, pushing Taka out of harm’s way and inflicting damage on himself—

_“Go—!”_

Taka could still clearly remember—he was proud, somehow, that he had killed Satoh-san—the one who murdered his brother, an enemy of his master—but then, Toru-san was reaching for him, calloused hand pushing him away and his face—

The usually bored, heavily-lidded eyes were wide—out of fear maybe ( _but what’s there to be afraid of, for someone as powerful as Toru-san?_ Was he scared for himself? Or was he scared for Taka’s safety—he’ll _never_ know)—almost desperate, his fiery hair all around his face before darkness befalls.

That’s the last time Taka could gaze at the face of his tormentor.

Because when he woke up, he’s like a new person—as stranger thrown into their dark, cold, cruel world. He knows nothing and it infuriates him because how cruel and merciless the universe could be?

Taka wants _revenge_ , Taka wants pain and suffering inflicted on that person who ruined everything for him but—but—

 

* * *

 

 

“Tomoya’s right…”

Taka abruptly looked up from the tray perched on his lap as the recently awoken leader finally spoke—his voice is the same, raw and rough around the edges—the deep baritone sending shivers through his spine with every syllable he says, but it lacks the sharpness, the distinct strength that would make anyone cower like puppies.

And there…and there he was…the once cold and icy eyes was looking at him with warmth—smoldering yet so gentle gaze that makes him want to hurl his intestines out in disgust.

“…you’re actually a good cook…”

* * *

 

 

—but how could he punish someone who looks at him like that, who treats him like a precious _doll_ —who cares for him as if he’s a person and not just a mere possession?

_How_ could he stab him with that sharp knife when he’s complementing his cooking?

_How_ could he strangle him with his hands if he’s looking at him with blank eyes as if he’ll accept anything— _be it nice or death_ —that Taka gives to him?

A soft, hollow laugh escaped Taka’s full lips at those thoughts. Man, he’s really messed up in the head, huh? There’s his brother’s murderer, living with him and all he could think was to get fucked every now and then. He wonders why? Maybe because he’s still yearning for that familiarity, for that sense of security whenever Toru-san is pounding into him, teeth and lips marking and biting bruises on his skin—hands gripping his waist and hips and eyes looking down at him with so much life, so much possessiveness, so much pride—

_He’ll never look at me like that ever again, if this continues._

And Taka…Taka was scared of that.

He can’t have his only reason for living vanishing like fuck, too.

“I wonder why I’m still staying with him, though…” he said, too lost on his thought to notice the careful footsteps coming closer to his location, “Maybe…maybe I’m waiting for him to regain his memories so that…so that I could finally hurt him…” his eyes became hooded, his mind gears working into thoughts after thoughts of the hundred ways to make the yakuza pay _—tie him up, make him bleed, run something sharp across his skin, deprive him of light, of sensations, of release—_

That last thought sent a delicious shiver running down his spine—the image of Toru-san—his once proud and mighty dragon, tied in a chair, hair tousled and a layer of sweat covering his skin, his eyes dark and lustful, cheeks flustered and lips parted open as he calls—no, _begs_ —for Taka to come back and make him come was just—

**_“Don’t move.”_ **

Taka straightened up at that command.

His body instantly went rigid at the now-familiar sound of a gun being cocked towards his direction. He slowly dared to look at the person standing behind him. He was probably too lost in his thoughts that he had failed to notice the person nor hear his footsteps ahead of time.

_Oh, they finally found me—_

—only to be met by a totally unfamiliar face. _Wrong._

He’s not wearing a suit and for a moment, he thought how _dumb_ he is for not realizing that the Yamashita clan would never raise a gun towards him—

_Unless they’ve been ordered to bring me back, dead or alive—_

But it’s obviously not the case today.

“Y-you’re—,” Taka inwardly winced as his voice cracked in pure fear. He has always stayed indoors, within the walls of the main house—guarded and protected by Toru-san’s men—and this is the first time that someone’s actually trying to hurt him after the shit Satoh-san pulled before.

“You killed _him_ ,” he said, and Taka instantly realized that this man is probably one of the few remaining people who are still loyal to the annihilated clan, “You killed our _oyabun_ —,”

Satoh-san. He’s talking about Satoh-san—

_But all of them were wiped out,_ Taka’s mind supplied, _I made sure of that, I ordered all of that_ —

Fear gripped his heart as he realized the inevitable.

_Death_.

Taka was so fucking sure he’ll die today because the man’s eyes were dark, cold and unforgiving—his pride crushed and dreams broken as all of his colleagues perished under the Yamashitas’ wrath—that he failed to notice another person standing beside the man—

**_“Fuck off.”_ **

Oh.

Both of their eyes widened at the familiar baritone growling a command—

_Toru-san—_

It was Toru-san, standing there, his gun aimed at the man’s head; his hair and coat fluttering all around him as the wind blew past them. _He came!_ Toru-san had found him and—but the man still had his gun cocked towards Taka’s direction and well, it’s not really the right time to feel…somewhat elated, coz his head is about to get blown any moment from now.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill your bi—,”

_Bang!_

Taka screamed in pure terror as Toru-san _wordlessly_ fired a bullet straight to the man’s head.

_Holy shit!_

Now, Taka had done the same to Satoh-san a few months ago, but not this close—where he could clearly, easily, horrifyingly see how the head exploded like a watermelon—all white and pink and red—

“Ah—,” the crimson liquid and remains splattering on the grass, painting Taka’s face and Hiroki’s stone marker red before the now lifeless body fall sideways with a thud!

Toru-san had killed him.

And unlike in the movies, he didn’t even let the man finished a simple _dialogue_ —

Taka wanted to vomit, his skin turning clammy as he visibly shook at the dark figure looming across him. He can smell blood, can feel the liquid rolling over his cheeks, drenching his clothes and matting his hair.

Blood.

There’s blood everywhere.

Just like that night.

Taka’s chest started to heave as he was brought back to that place then to this graveyard and in between, he swears he could see Satoh-san, could hear Hiroki’s _“oniichan”,_ could hear scream, and _“Go!”—_ his eyes, wide and frantic and scared, looked up at the silhouette of the yakuza.

Toru-san’s eyes were hooded, his pupils turned into slits as he glanced down at him with a masked expression. His perfectly sculpted lips were turned down in a frown and…and Taka whimpered at that sight, at that familiar look on the man’s face—

_Is he back…?_

He looks disappointed, he looks displeased that Taka had run away, and oh, that dark look on his face speaks of promises of punishments and—

Toru-san took a step forward, his gun clenched on a hand while the other rose to offer some assistance to the blood-bathed Takahiro.

“I—I—,” Taka flinched away, noting the subtle arching of the redhead’s brow. _God_ , he really looks like him—looks like the man who ruined him.

The only familiar thing he can rely in this ever-changing world—

“He speak _too much_ for a proper assassin,” Toru-san casually said, still urging him to take his hand, “and you’re acting like a goddamned deer caught in the fucking headlights. You’ll get yourself killed like that, Takahiro.”

And then Takahiro was shaking, sobbing, big globs of tears rolling down his cheeks—washing the blood on its trail—as he urgently reached for the hand—not noticing how the yakuza’s steely eyes mellowed down for a moment—and cried like fuck.

Like the old times and…and suddenly…

Toru smirked, pulling him up and enveloped him in a warm, almost crushing hug—not giving a fuck about the blood and the mess and Taka’s crying face and it was just too much—

_Suddenly_ , he was back to being the pathetic, always-bawling in fear and eager-to-please Takahiro once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: OOR will never be mine.

 

There were _touches_ …

Taka’s brows furrowed as goosebumps were left along the trail of those touches.

_What happened…? Where…?_

He could hear someone faintly mumbling his name, could feel the rumbling of a strong, sculpted chest behind him with every word spoken…

_Who…?_

Taka could feel the familiar ridges of a calloused hand ghosting feathery touches— _so soft and warm_ —on the naked skin of his back. It’s been so long, too long and wait—

_WHAT—_

His eyes snapped open in surprise. _Naked?_

Taka could faintly remember being in the cemetery and yes—being fully clothed like shit. He can remember blood, lots of it and an outstretched hand towards him—

_Why am I—_

“Finally awake, dear little _kitten_ …?” a deep voice growled right behind his hear, making Taka’s entire frame stiffen in fear, in shock, in anger and…and something akin with _longing_. _God_.

His eyes snapped wide open, the dimly lit room greeting him and that—

That voice.

_That fucking voice—_

He tried to look back—realizing a bit too late that he’s lying on his stomach, his heated skin having contact on the silky sheets beneath his body—expecting, praying, _hoping_ that he’s not just dreaming—that this is not another one of those nightmares—

_Coz I don’t wanna wake up and deal with that empty shell…_

Scathing heavily-lidded eyes met his wide almond-shaped ones over his shoulder.

And yes—

Taka could feel his blood instantly sizzle with that stare alone. Flashes of the old times flooded his mind, the smirk, the glinting eyes shining amidst the darkness of the room, the face that promises everything aside from kindness and gentleness—the face of the man whom he’s been longing for all these time.

He’s here—he’s— _the old_ —

Taka felt a painful lump forming at the base of his throat.

_He’s back—_

“Y-you’re back…” he croaked out, breath hitching when those eyes fluttered close as the redhead yakuza dipped his head onto the crook of his neck and shoulder, nosing it, his lips planting soft kisses on the milky skin before _harshly_ clamping on it—, “ _Ngh!_ T-that—,” Taka choked, the pain making his blood boil within his veins, “…that hurts—,” he whimpered as the man’s tongue lapped at the bruise, “ _hurts_ …”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” He hummed, peering up on him with such intense eyes that make Taka’s dick hardened in an instant. He can feel the man’s strong arm snaking around his waist, the palm splayed on his flat stomach as he pulled him up on all fours, “Isn’t that _what_ you’ve been craving for, Takahiro…?”

Taka bit his plump lower lip as he felt the familiar hardness sliding across his ass, his hips not knowing whether to rut his hard-on against the mattress or to push back to grind on that stiff, hot girth behind him.

_I…I…_

God, since when did he became so aroused that he even forgot how to use fucking words?!

“ _Pain_ ,” Taka’s head arched back when the man chomped on his shoulder once more, the sting shooting down his spine and straight to his boner like electric sparks. _God_ , how long—he had waited for this moment. He knows—he’s painfully aware that there’s something wrong with him for wanting pain—for wanting Toru-san to hurt him in order to feel pleasure—

_I’m so, so fucked up—_

_Hiroki would fucking spit at me for being like this—for acting like this._

 “You want pain from me, don’t you, you little kitten…?”

“Yes…” he desperately mumbled, not wanting to say nor make unnecessary movements in fear that Toru-san would just shatter and disappear right before his eyes—right before he even comes—

_Yes, yes, yes—_

_A thousand yes!_

Toru-san’s hand roamed around his stomach, running over the smooth and supple inner thighs—his fingers deliberately avoiding to touch his needy, almost weeping organ.

_I’ve always been weak to this_ , Taka pathetically admitted to himself. All those times, he would deny and fight against Toru-san but one touch—just one fucking touch of those hands and he always come undone—wantonly begging and crying for release.

It’s funny, how proud and strong he was—bearing a tattoo on his back and acting like a proper yakuza—cold and harsh and mischievous in front of the leader, and yet now—

He whimpered, when instead of touching him to the right places, Toru-san merely held onto his hip, parting his legs with his own and reached forward to playfully nibble and lick the reddened lobes of his hear.

“Fu—!”

Taka lost his balance, barely stopping his face from smashing across the mattress by leaning on his forearms. Behind him, Toru-san is trailing his sinful mouth on his nape, his lips ghosting over the raised bumps of his phoenix tattoo, leaving nips and bits along the way, before tracing the lines and bold strokes with his tongue.

_Fucking—_

Taka loudly whined at that, dropping his sweaty forehead over the bed—having a very good view of his dripping member. What the heck, why can’t Toru-san just ram into him like before?! Why is he taking his damn sweet time when he was always _more than eager_ to plunge into Taka’s body?! Taka boldly snapped his hips backwards, trying to provoke the man to just get over it and push into him— _fuck him like he actually means it_ —but the bastard is still a demon—he stilled Taka’s wildly bucking hips with a hand, draping his front onto Taka’s back until he can feel every beat of his heart, every breath fanning on his neck and jaws as he smirked— _always smirking, the fucking motherfucker_ —

“H-hurry up,” he growled out, the yakuza in him trying to dominate the man with his glares alone—but Toru-san is not like Ryota or Tomoya or any of his men—he was the leader and no one shouts a command at the Boss, the one standing at the top of the hierarchy—

And the very same one who’s holding Taka’s sanity and pleasure on the palm of his hand.

“Why should I?” Toru-san’s deep baritone filtered through Taka’s ears like fucking sin. He just…he just wants to smack the man across his face for torturing him like this, “You’ve been very naughty when I was away—,”

“And who’s fault do you think that is?!” he snapped, trying to shrug the man off his back. If the yakuza won’t properly fuck him tonight, Taka would rather spend the rest of the evening outside, far from the asshole who loves teasing the ever-loving daylights out of him, “You’ve turned into a fucking _invalidated_ prick!”

“So you decided to seek the companies of others?”

What?

Pure shock and confusion marred Taka’s hot and bothered face as he stopped struggling. He warily glanced over his shoulder, gulping as he realized that Toru-san was looking at him with hooded eyes. He was not smirking anymore, his face a blank canvass—devoid of any expressions and emotions.

And suddenly, Taka felt the need to prove him wrong. Heh, maybe he’s always threatening to sleep with another clan’s boss just to control Toru-san and see how far the leader would allow him and his foul, challenging mouth. He wants to see him _distressed, jealous, murderous_ —like the old times, his words and actions oozing with obsession and possessiveness—whenever he says something like _“do you want me to do the negotiations,”_ and _“I’ll rather sleep with someone else who could give it to me properly…”_

But he won’t do it.

He’s not that stupid anymore and besides—

“Satoh-san is long dead,” he rasped out, meeting those narrowed eyes head on. He doesn’t cringe anymore, and part of him wonders on how did he managed to muster such courage to face the yakuza like this—like they’re equals—instead of cowering and bursting into tears every now and then, “I’m not interested in sleeping with anyone else anymore…you—,”

_Only you._

He wanted to say that, but the words seemingly got trapped into his throat. Forcing them out would just result into Taka throwing his intestines out. And no one wants that. It’s not very sexy at all.

_Only you, Toru-san._

“Uh-huh.”

Toru-san made a noncommittal grunt, dipping his head until his forehead touches his shoulder as if he’s surrendering or something. But even before Taka could ask about the sudden change on the man’s demeanor, Taka’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets as the leader wordlessly grinded his hips forward, his dick sliding between his cheeks in a teasing manner—

“Offh—,”

—before he dove straight to home.

Taka’s mouth opened in a silent scream as he felt the wide girth suddenly pushing into him—the ring of muscle instantly clenching around the length but the yakuza didn’t relent in his thrust, pushing and drilling his hips until he’s _balls-deep_ into Takahiro.

Taka’s eyes were wide, unbelieving and glazed with lust and want as he stared at the sinful sight of that cock disappearing into his butt, before the pain and pleasure was too much for him to handle. His eyes squeezed shut on their own, heavy breaths coming out as pants from his puffy lips as he focused on that feeling—the familiar feeling of being filled to the brim.

“A-ah…” he whimpered as the he feels the stretch burns like fuck, but he ignored it because he wants it—he hadn’t felt this much in the past months.

It was sick, it was twisted but the pain made Takahiro feel _alive_.

He just wanted to feel it again—feel him again, see a part of his past once more. Taka felt the man’s breathing on his neck, lips sucking and licking on the sensitive, bite-ridden flesh as he stilled and waited for Taka to adjust to his size.

_No, don’t be gentle._

Taka gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up on his elbows, the pain searing into him like a hot knife, but it was good— _it was painfully good_! His supple, creamy thighs were shaking, his shoulders trembling as he keeps the moans and sobs from passing his lips.

_Don’t be gentle like him!_

He boldly pressed back, meeting the man’s hips in an urgent manner as Toru-san started to move.

“N-need,” he keened, voice almost hoarse in this sweet torture. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at those glinting eyes with so much passion, “Need you to... to…” he said, teeth harshly biting on the plump lower lip, grinding his ass back onto Toru-san’s cock, making the man gasp in surprise as he took more of him inside his body.

“What was that?” Taka felt calloused hands gripping his hips in a bruising manner, as he started thrusting into him with reckless abandon. Taka let out pitiful sobs with every particular strong movement, the hard, hot shaft hitting something inside him that takes his breath every goddamned time. It _hurts_ , and he already probably said that a million times but the brutal pace of skin slapping against skin, of nails digging on his flesh, of his ass getting impaled thrust after thrust is fucking _perfect_.

And this man—

Taka’s breath hitched as Toru-san’s eyes became even more heavily-lidded, but instead of the perpetual boredom, the yakuza was moving, looking at him with eyes burning with unsated hunger. He… he looks at him like he’s some kind of god to be worshipped, like a prized object to be treasured, like the god dammed answers to all of his prayers.

He…he’s not supposed to look like that, but that still didn’t stop the words from carelessly tumbling out of his mouth.

“You…” he whispered, “Only you… _who else_ …?”

His response was met by an agonizing silence from the redhead. He didn’t utter a word, and Taka could only hear the sinful, dirty squelching sound of Toru-san’s cock pounding into him. His face caught with fire, burning in shame and arousal as he desperately meets the merciless thrusts with his rough ones.

It’s you— _has always been_ you—

Taka’s shaking hands fisted the sheets below him as the yakuza continues ravishing him. It was hot, _too_ hot—droplets of sweat from the redhead falling onto his shoulder. It was burning, and it consumes him—like fire, like the phoenix inked on his back, threatening to engulf him, burn him to the ground, turn him into fine ashes—

“How about me, Taka-pin?”

_WHAT_.

Time seems to froze when Taka heard that familiar voice. What? This couldn’t be happening—

“Ahn!” he lost his balance, face unceremoniously planting on the mattress as the leader ruthlessly pounded into him—uncaring of the sudden voice lingering in the air. Taka’s chest started to heave into shallow, panicked breaths—his eyes widening as a pair of strong thighs landed on either side of his head—

Who—

What—

_What’s happening—_

And even before he could slowly raise his gaze towards the sudden intruder, Taka’s face was enveloped with warm hands, reverently roaming around his cheeks, his jaws and ears before it suddenly yanked his hair—forcing him to look up and meet the familiar face of the surgeon he had killed a few months ago.

NO—

“T-Takeru-san…?”

That can’t be— _this can’t be—_

A pained sob erupted from his kiss-swollen lips as Toru-san made a particular long, deep thrust. Taka feels like his head and ass would explode at that moment—his ass getting pounded like hell, his dick weeping like fuck, and his face is dangerously closed to the naked crotch of Satoh Takeru.

_What the fuck?!_

“Missed me…?” he asked, leaning down, his auburn hair falling from his shoulders and dropping like fiery curtains around Takahiro’s face. he still has those narrowed eyes, glinting with mischief and his lips were still curled into a nasty smile. He still looks so handsome—nothing…nothing like the explosion of pink and red and white he was when Taka shot him dead. “Coz I really missed you, Taka-pin…”

Breathe.

_He’s not real._

But the pain behind him, the breathing on his neck and the bites on his shoulders felt so real.

_He’s dead._

But Takeru-san is warm, so warm and hot and looking so alive.

Breathe.

_Breathe._

This is just a dream.

_A nightmare._

Breathe.

_Brea—_

And then, Taka screamed—

“ _Ahmmmph_ hh!!!” only to be grabbed at the back of his head and smashed his face onto the raging hard on in front of him. His eyes widened like the size of saucers as his lips fall onto the heated and engorged flesh.

“ _Mphhh_ —,”

Flashes of that one time flooded back to his mind—that one time when Toru-san punished the surgeon by making Taka do perverted stuffs to him—sucking his dick and making him watch and pant like a dog in rut as Taka pleasures himself—depriving him of release. This is exactly like that, the smell and feeling and trepidation were all the same— _suffocating him_ , making him feel like he’s still trapped, like he still needs to do something or else, Hiroki would—

_Hiroki would—_

“Didn’t you want to suck it back then?” Takeru-san was saying above him, the ends of his hair tickling Taka’s cheeks and jaws. His eyes widened in horror as the surgeon’s fingers traced the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose before swiping the moist on his lips. He then toyed with the corner of his mouth, Taka instantly parting his soft lips to grant him entry. “When you want to get away from Toru?”

Taka tried shaking his head, drooling around the fingers that keep on violating his mouth, playing a sensual game with his hesitant tongue, but all he can do is to widen his teary almond-shaped eyes and shiver, especially when Toru-san leaned forward until those perfectly sculpted lips spoke right next to his ear.

“That’s right,” Toru-san growled behind him, his fingers digging onto his hips, his cock slamming with more force than ever, making Taka almost gagged on the fingers being shoved inside his mouth, “You wanted freedom from me, right, Takahiro…?”

_Yes—no—ye—!_

“Let the guy speak, Toru—,”

“You’re the one _harassing_ his mouth.”

“ _Maa_ ,” Takeru-san shrugged and smiled down at him, removing his saliva-coated fingers, “Well, you can talk now, Taka-pin. Did you enjoy doing it, back then?”

_Of course, no—_

“Your little tongue giving kitty laps on my cock?” he said in a husky voice, making Taka cringe in disgust. “Okay, your face tells _everything_ I need to know, but seriously, you’ll really gonna do whatever Toru wants, right?”

And then the bastard glanced at the man busy grinding into him, giving quick, shallow thrusts and making Taka’s body practically bounce on the fucking mattress. It’s like the two exchanged some kind of conversation in a telepathic manner because suddenly, Toru-san was pushing him forward, his hand gripping his jaw and making him have a very close view of Takeru-san’s member.

“Well, he’s my Takahiro, after all,” Toru-san said in a bland manner, Taka trying to shake his head in disagreement but the hand on his jaw was like steel-firm, “He’ll listen to whatever I want, won’t you, little kitten?”

What the heck—

_What happened, why is this—_

“Right, Takahiro…?” said the man’s voice. Taka looked back, wide, terrified eyes pleading for an escape—I’m willing to do this for you and yet you’re pushing me to another person, like a fucking slave, you motherfucking—, but to his immense surprise, it wasn’t the cold, merciless face of the leader who’s st6aring back at him.

His eyes were blank, always having this…this lost-look on his face as he _blankly_ gazed back at Taka with a—

_“Takahiro…?”_

With a loving…with a gentle, _loving_ stare.

“Haah—,” Taka’s head started to hurt once more because he had lost him again. Gone was the man he’s been yearning for—only to be replaced with this…this broken good-looking doll—he wants to scream, wants to pull away and curl into a ball and cry— _mourn_ for the man who’s _never_ going back to his arms—but even before he can open his mouth, droplets of thick, warm liquid landed on his head, rolling down his eyelids and cheeks.

What’s—

Taka slowly watched as the liquid rolled down his chin, his attention diverted towards the red stain on the otherwise pristine white sheet.

It was blood.

Blo—

And then, his hair was yanked once more, eyes prickling with unshed tears as his head arched back, giving him a clear and full view of the surgeon’s face.

“You’ll do what he wants,” the person said, “You’re his beloved _pet_ after all, ne, Takahiro…?”

It was a skull with bits of muscles and blood slowly melting on the bones, the mess dripping down on Taka’s face like a thick, suffocating blanket—

_“Takahiro…”_

And Taka finally screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, I own nothing.

He’s dreaming.

Toru’s brows furrowed in worry as his unconscious Takahiro started trashing against the sheets on their enormous bed. He had brought the man here after finding him almost getting killed in the cemetery earlier. He was obviously out of himself because he clung to the leader like he’s a life line or something before he finally falls asleep on the way back. He was grimy and bloody, and despite Tomoya’s offer to carry the smaller man, Toru decided to do it himself, even if the younger could ruin his clean suit.

He just…

He just doesn’t want anyone touching Takahiro right now.

His possessiveness is _flaring_ , making him snappy and easily-annoyed that he could kill even his own men if he hears something foul about this man. _He’ll kill them all._

_Ah,_ he wondered when did he started thinking like that? He lost count on how many persons of interest Tomoya and Ryota have brought him in the past few days…and thinking that those men has something to do with the sudden disappearance of his most precious person, he just downright tortured them to death.

 

* * *

 

 

It was bloody, _yes_ , but Toru couldn’t feel a thing as everyone bleeds into death beneath him. All he wants is to shake the blood pooling beneath the soles of his shoes off and to go find someone who actually knows where Takahiro is.

_Takahiro._

God, how can that simple, average-looking man could make him grow crazy like this?

_Hah_ , his mind supplied instantly, _like an unwanted cocky conscience, as if! You’re already crazy even before you meet our Takahiro, you dumb fuck!_

Hnnn, that may be true.

But one thing is sure at that moment—he needs to see Takahiro, right there and then or else, he’ll definitely lose it. A part of him is screaming, begging look for the younger man and if found, bind him—tie him down, chain him and punish his puny little ass for running off like that and…and making Toru—Yamashita Toru _, of all people_ —worried and restless like this.

So when…when Tomoya finally barged into the warehouse, saying something like, “Taka-chan’s location has been found!”, Toru didn’t waste any moment.

In a few minutes, he’s already in the graveyard, eyes wide as he stared at the sight of Takahiro being held under a gun and—

And everything within him just snapped—

Protect.

_Protect him._

Don’ let anyone else kill him—

He stalked, quietly, carefully, like an assassin in the middle of an important mission—gun aimed and eyes blazing with fury because how dare you!? How dare you point a gun towards a member of the Yamashita Clan—

And then, the rest is history.

* * *

 

_I wonder what he gets from running away like that,_ he thought as he watched the smaller man struggled against the sheets. He looks like a mess, his curly locks sticking on his sweaty face as he tossed around, his cheeks were flustered and his lips puffing out shallow pants. Aside from nearly giving me a heart attack that is.

Ryota called it _“testing your patience_ ,” while Tomoya dubbed the fiasco as “ _Taka-chan sulking and needing your attention, Aniki.”_

They’re probably both right, but whatever it is, the fact that Takahiro is back within the safety of the walls of his house is the most important shit right now. And oh, let’s not forget about the hundreds of way to make him pay, make him learn his place again, burn into his mind that the leader is not something he could toyed around with—

_But he can_ , his mind said, _Takahiro can absolutely can and you’ll allow it, don’t you?_

“Haah—,” his eyes lowered down on the writhing mess on the bed. Takahiro looks like he’s suffering right now and Toru should wake him up right? But maybe…just a little bit more. Let him be consumed and tortured by his nightmares, a part of him sickly suggested, just a few more moments of being trapped in the dark abyss of his mind.

That sounds fun.

“-ru-san…” the boy whimpered, making Toru sit on the edge of the bed to hover above Takahiro. That was interesting. Is he having nightmares about me again?

That’s not nice.

He wants the kid to love him, not look at him as if he’s a monster under his bed or something. Toru grimaced and reached over to shake Takahiro’s shoulders.

“Takahiro…?”

No response. Just a few pitiful hurt-kitty noises escaping those parted lips. The trashing continues, it seems like Taka is fighting something off in his dreams, so with mild annoyance seeping through his system—for being ignored—Toru roughly grabbed the younger’s shoulder and shook him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Takahiro.”

And then, wild almond-shaped eyes snapped open— _glazed and terrified_ —as he let out an ear-splitting scream. Toru was startled for a moment, giving the younger man the perfect opportunity to reach up and pull him down, wrestling his body and pinning him down the bed in a flurry of sheets and yukata.

Wha—

Toru made a disgruntled sound at the back of his throat when his frame bounced on the bed, Taka taking that chance to straddle his lower half, one hand tightly gripping his neck—and the other was pinning his right hand on the sheets.

He wasn’t expecting that Takahiro would have enough strength to actually catch him off-guard but maybe it’s the adrenaline due to his nightmares. But Takahiro is still a full-grown man after-all, so it kinda makes sense so—

“Haah—,” the curly-haired man wheezed above him, and Toru dared to slowly raised his gaze. Half-lidded eyes roamed from the parted sleeping yukata, the sweaty and flushed expanse of stomach and chest, the clenched jaws, the supple lips gasping for air, the blush riding high on his cheekbones and his eyes—

He looks _murderous_ right now.

“How dare you—,” he was saying, his eyebrows scrunching up together in pain, as his lips trembled violently, “How dare you fucking…fucking leave me…?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Toru’s eyes narrowed as the trembling hands tightened its hold around his neck. He could easily throw the younger man, roll them over and pin him down instead but something within him—a part of him wants to see how this would end—

Especially when Takahiro is looking so pained like that.

So lonely.

So betrayed.

So fucking _longing_.

“Answer me!” he yelled. Toru wanted to say something like _, how can I answer when you’re strangling me to death, you silly, silly Takahiro,_ but he chose to keep that for himself. Instead, he stared at the man with a blank look on his face, challenging him, taunting him— _beckoning_ him to just let everything the fuck out.

“W-why—,” his voice cracked as a hurt sob escaped his lips. Taka leaned forward, closer, until his chest is almost draping over Toru’s own, until he can clearly gaze at the pools of his dark orbs. His eyes speak of volumes, of miseries and resentment, of crushed hopes and dreams, and as usual, Toru could feel himself getting lost just by staring at them. “Why do…why do you have to leave me…?”

_Leave_?

“I’m,” Toru managed to croak out against the pressure around his throat, “h-here,” he rasped out, but Takahiro is still probably trapped in the confines of his mind, “I’ve always been here—,”

“Why…” the man conveniently ignored him, the grip on his neck getting tightly, blunt nails digging on his pale skin as Taka’s almond-shaped eyes turned into slits, “…why do you have to drag me in this world just to…just to fucking leave me all alone, you bastard!”

_Oh._

The figure above him slowly gets blurry as breathing became harder for him. He had lost count how many times Takahiro had tried to choke him to death, but this…this is probably the first time that he heard those words.

_I thought…I thought he just wants the old me back to properly punish him for all the shits I did before…_

But for Taka to say something like that…that he’s actually…genuinely missing the old him is…

“…even if you told me that you’ll give me e- _hic!_ -everything…” he hiccupped, “…if I would obey all of your words…even if you… you told me you’ll give me the world…”

_I can—_

_I can still—_

“Ha—,” Toru gasped as the hand finally stopped strangling him. His lungs greedily sucked in oxygen, his mind buzzing especially when instead of trying to kill him once more, the hand merely brushed across his jaw—gently, smoothly, almost _reverently_ —

Here comes the mood-swing—

“…but what will I do with the _entire world_ , if the _one_ I wanted the most is not there…?”

Takahiro tilted his head, blinking away the tears clinging on his long, thick eyelashes. His pupils are blown wide and dark, his curls falling menacingly around his flustered cheeks as he leaned back and properly straddled him again. Toru became hyper aware of the milky thighs on either side of his hips, the firm softness placed delicately near his groin, and the predatory look on Taka’s face.

“Nee, Toru-san, do you know…?” he softly asked, almost whispered in a sing-sang voice, as his fingers trailed fleeting touches on his cheeks before tracing the contour of his lips. Toru swallowed thickly at that, his lips parting open when the younger man pressed the pad of his thumb on the lower lip, asking for access and acceptance. “Do you know I’ve dreamt of the old you fucking me?”

_Here I thought you’re having a nightmare about me killing you or something_.

“Well,” Toru licked his lips, slowly gliding the pink muscle across his lower plump one, deliberately making contact with Takahiro’s intrusive finger before he speaks once more, “Aren’t you a lewd one, Takahiro _mpph_?!”

He wasn’t able to finish his retort when Taka wordlessly shoved two fingers into his mouth. For a moment, he thought that the man would just shove it down his throat, or rip his tongue off, but when those nimble digits just…aimlessly roamed around the insides of his mouth, Toru _easily_ got the gist.

_Dominance_.

Takahiro— _his ever-submissive Takahiro_ —is silently obliging him to be dominated, to follow every orders, to fulfill his every commands. Well, Toru had said before—or at least, his past self-did—that he’ll give everything to this man, right?

Yeah, he inwardly agreed, a cheeky smirk forming on his lips as his tongue readily wrapped itself around the digits, licking along their lengths and even softly nipping at the soft skin. Takahiro’s eyes darkened a thousand shades, his cheeks got even redder and his lips parted in a soft, awed “ _oh_.”

_But that doesn’t mean that he could control me._

“You…” Takahiro fidgeted above his abdomen, unconsciously rubbing his flimsy-clothed ramp on the erection that’s quickly forming on Toru’s crotch. Huh. “You actually…”

Toru glanced up, his hand rising to grab Taka’s hand—guiding the fingers in and out of his mouth, the lewd, slick sounds filling the air and mingling with Taka’s moans and paintings as he practically fucked his mouth with those fingers.

He watched as Taka’s murderous expressions were easily replaced with lust—wants and desires evident on his eyes as he watched Toru-san finger-fucked his mouth with his hand. Never…the boy probably never thought that he’ll abide by his sick stuffs but really, _who was Yamashita Toru to decline?_

“You’re really ah—,” Takahiro whined before pulling his hand away, looking down at him with a distressed look on his gorgeous face. He looks so torn and yet so delectable that toru couldn’t help himself from hungrily lucking his lips. “You’ll do _anything_ …for me…?”

Oh, you slow, dumb shit, isn’t it obvious already?!

_What, do you want me to make a billboard for it?_

Toru nodded, instead of spouting those words. He stretched his hands, landing on the thighs encaging his body. He gripped the supple flesh, marveling at the handful of creamy skin on his palm.

“You know,” he said, his voice raw and rough, “You know _I’ll do everything_ for you, Takahiro.”

He observes how Taka tilted his head, scrunching his nose up in disbelief before he bit his goddamned lip. He then raises his ass from Toru’s crotch before scooting forward, parting his already opened yukata to reveal his proud, leaking member so close— _oh so_ fucking close to the leader’s face.

“Then lemme _fuck you_ , Toru-san…” Takahiro said, almost in a daze as he loomed over, gripping the head board and urging Toru to take his cute little dick into his mouth—like what he enthusiastically did to his fingers just a few seconds ago. “It would be fun; don’t you think so?”

_I don’t think so._

Toru’s jaws almost slacked wide open at that.

God. What the heck is this man’s dreaming just a while ago to make him act like this?! Taka is always either wanting to kill him or get fucked by him— _there’s no in between_ —and to see him like this, to see him trying to actually overpower him is so—

So—

Toru grunted, his hands finding their place on the singer’s hips once more. He didn’t bother to dress the curly-haired man with boxers earlier when he washed and dressed him up—so his hands are free to roam and grope the silken-like mounds of Takahiro’s ass.

He glanced at the weeping member in front of him—it’s red-tipped, upright and oh-so begging for attention. Takahiro had kissed him countless of times but he never tries to do something as bold as this. A hand reached down—Taka’s hand taking the little—coz it’s obviously smaller than his, he smugly thought—cock and gripped it tightly, the younger man shamelessly trying to touch and pleasure himself with his member just a few centimeters away from Toru’s wide-eyed face.

“Can you do that, Toru-san?” Taka breathlessly asked, looking down at him with his curly locks framing the scarlet cheeks, “Would you do that for me?”

He couldn’t answer right away.

He’s getting lost at the sight of Takahiro right above his blank face, the singer moaning like there’s no tomorrow—like there’s no guards roaming just beyond the door. He was looking down at him with hooded, half-lidded eyes as his fingers pumped his cock oh so well. Toru swallowed, the musky scent of his the younger is so close, so thick that he could practically taste it.

“Don’t you want it, Toru-san…?”

Want.

_Want him—_

But not like this—

If there’s someone who’ll gonna be fucked tonight, _it’s definitely not Yamashita Toru._

Takahiro’s sweet, sinful lips curled down in a taunting smile when Toru didn’t answer and merely stared at his dripping member. “Y-you _ah_ …said that you’ll do any— _ahn_ —thing for me…?” he then stopped gliding his hand around his dick and scooted even closer, dragging his member onto Toru’s cheeks and nose—the corners of his mouth before going back on touching himself in a frenzied manner.

_God, that was—_

Toru’s body shiver at that action, his own dick now fully straining against his boxers. Takahiro is probably having a field day seeing him like this—the mighty yakuza leader beneath him, pre-cum painted on his cheeks and visibly shaking with arousal— _want, need_ —for this man.

This impossible man who had become his _downfall_.

“Would…but…” he croaked out. He could feel Takahiro’s precome dribbling on he cheeks, down to his lips, and his mouth didn’t waste any moment from parting and licking the liquid, making Taka growl softly above him. Toru decided that he wants to see him become undone, suck him off, taste him off and _make him cry and beg for him_ —he parted his lips, leaning forward and managing a small lick before Takahiro yanked his member away, glaring down at him with a triumphant smile on his full, full lips.

_Motherfu_ —

“Oh no,” he said, voice a bit rough from all the moaning’s he did, completely ignoring the dirty looks Toru is shooting him, “You don’t get to suck me off that _easy_ , Toru-san. Say you want it first.”

_Say you want me first._

Toru glared devilishly at the man hovering above him. He’s wrong, Taka is not still in his world of dreams—he’s wide awake, thinking— _cunning_ —into baiting Toru in this play.

_A play for power_ —on who would submit and who would rule over. It’s a very dangerous, yet very intimate game and Toru—

Toru is _more than willing_ to play with him.

_Let’s see how far he’ll go_ , he darkly thought, as he stared at the dark almond-shaped eyes, _let’s see how long he can resist before he gives in._

“I’ve always…” Takahiro mumbled above him, his fingers tracing the curves of Toru’s lips in almost-child-like fascination before he withdrew the hand to comb into his messy, sweaty locks, “I’ve always liked it when you go down on me before, you know? I’m a little denying piece of shit back then but now…”

_I missed it._

_I missed you._

“You want it, right?” he asked once more, _you still want me, right?_

“Yesss,” he breathlessly said, his hands resting on Takahiro’s hips, caressing the soft, smooth skin over there, “I want it.”

“Oh,” Taka blinked and was completely speechless for a short while—he probably didn’t expect Toru to just easily agree to his games—but after a few seconds, the seductive grin split his full lips once more as he looked at him straight in the eyes, “ _Okay_.”

Toru watched as Takahiro used his right hand, gliding it down from his chest, to his abdomen until it reached his weeping member once more—all while staring at Toru’s eyes. They keep their gazes locked, even when Takahiro guided his cock, dragging the tip along Toru’s partly opened lips, smearing on them.

Toru’s lips started curling in a smirk, his tongue darting out to lick and taste him—with Takahiro subtly jumping in surprise— _god, it’s hard to pretend that Takahiro is trying to dominate him when he’s flinching and jerking at the sudden contact like that!_ It makes Toru want to just pounce and attack him with kisses and nips and bites—at the sudden warmth.

Seeing his startled reaction, Toru nipped and teased the head, his tongue swirling around it and eliciting gasps and moans from the person above him.

“F-fuck…”

Their gazes still held each other when Toru gripped the fleshy ass and slowly pushed it forward, his lips parting wide to accommodate the girth of Takahiro’s pink-tipped cock. The man then finally breaks the eye-contact as his gaze landed on the very lewd sight of his member disappearing into Toru’s mouth.

“ _Hnnn_ that’s…yes…” he was babbling between pants, “Suck it, Toru-san…”

Toru gladly obliged, humming against the cock shoved into his mouth. He felt the man tremble as he sucked him, his cheeks visibly caving in so deep, so perfect and so hard that Takahiro had to let go of his member and hold onto the fucking headboard with both hands for more stability as he started rocking his hips, his member thrusting in and out of the perfect, perfect lips of the leader.

“Shi— _ahhn_ —shit—,” moans after moans tumbled out of his lips, “Look at— _ah_ —you…look at t-the mighty leader t-taking— _nhnn_ —taking it all in…”

Toru grumbled in reply, the vibrations sending up delicious shivers through Takahiro’s spine.

The air was filled with the wet, sucking and _slurping_ noises—Takahiro obviously lost in the haze of passion and lust as his eyes glazed over, watching with unfocused eyes how he’s almost balls deep into Toru’s mouth—and revels on the fact that the yakuza is taking it in, taking it all in without giving out a fight, without asking for anything in return.

“M-missed,” he stuttered, one of his hands falling onto Toru’s cheeks, cradling it before he ran his fingers through maroon tresses, slicking them back and harshly yanking the yakuza’s head, as he angled his lips and started fucking his mouth with reckless abandon, “Want this—,”

Toru let his jaws goes slack, parting his mouth as wide as he could, his head arching back onto the soft, feather-pillows as he _let Takahiro use him,_ use his mouth for his own pleasure as he takes in every hitch of his breathe, every puff of warm air from his mouth, every flicker of thousands of emotions in his eyes—

He— _his old-self_ —had probably enjoyed sucking this little shit back then, he thought. And he definitely enjoys watching him get wrecked, watching Takahiro surrendered to his desires and fall apart like this—

“Mphh—!” Toru’s eyes widened for a moment when Takahiro’s thrusts started getting rougher, ramming his cock deep into Toru’s throat in that angle, the squelching noise loud in the yakuza’s ears with every slide of that dick into his mouth.

“B-but you can’t give it to me _anymore_ —,” Takahiro’s breath hitched, looking down at him with the saddest expression on his face—his emotions switch from someone’s who’s drowning with ecstasy to someone who’s mourning for a dead lover without missing a beat—, “Was it f— _ahn_ —un? When you’re being used like _this_ …?” he asked, as he rips his head by his fiery locks once more, picking up a rough, punishing pace that brought the inevitable tears forming at the corner of Toru’s heavily-lidded eyes, “When you’re be-hic-ing used like a goddamned _whore_ , hnn?”

And to emphasize his point, Takahiro grabbed the base of his cock to have a proper aim as he started fucking him in the earnest. Toru grunted, but still didn’t made any effort to struggle and be free because he wanted this, wanted to give everything to him, wanted to make him break apart— _shatter into a thousand fragments,_ until he can only see him, feel him, mutter his name like a prayer over and over again— _come for me, Takahiro, come for me and only me—_

Takahiro drives his member in and out, fast and ruthless—not caring if he’s hitting the back of his throat nor when Toru is almost gagging nor when his teeth is somewhat grazing the heated flees. Toru’s drool dribbled down his chin as he accepted him—accepted Takahiro’s revenge, his anger, his petty sulking and desire to prove a point—

“Always—w _ah_ ant you—,” tears rolled down on Takahiro’s cheeks as his hips stuttered in frenzy, “—hurt you, pun—punish you _ahn_ —yess—,”

I know.

_I know—_

Toru’s intense eyes—gleaming with lust and need and awe because how dare he, how dare Takahiro used him, used Yamashita Toru like that—meet those teary almond-shaped eyes. He just has to figure how to suck and lick and breathe and let Takahiro _take what he wants, take what he needs—_

“—always…always I’ve wait—waited for you,” Takahiro is now sobbing, choking in his own tears and the height of the pleasure making his speech turns into indecipherable babblings, “so why won’t—why won’t you— _ahn—_!”

Takahiro let out a keening noise, letting go of his member as he pushed right into Toru’s throat, both hands holding his face as his hips shook uncontrollably, his balls slapping against the wet, messy chin of the leader. Toru felt it—felt everything—felt how Takahiro’s muscles tighten and pulse as he shudders, emptying himself inside the yakuza’s abused little mouth.

He held him in place, his head arched back, exposing the sweaty column of his neck, his back like a taut bow ready to snap as he spills loads after loads that Toru graciously swallowed. It took a while before Takahiro regained his senses, pulling away his member with a lewd _pop_ from Toru’s mouth. His eyes are now unreadable, and if it’s not for his sweat-matted hair, flustered cheeks and still shaking body, no one would realize that he just reached the peak of orgasm a few seconds ago.

Toru looked up at him, his own eyes stinging with tears, his tongue absent-mindedly leaking his lips, tasting the liquid that managed to escape from the corner of his mouth.

“D-did,” he croaked out, his throat hurting and his jaws feel like it’s gonna fall off any moment from now, “w-was it good?” he asked, watching as Taka started sobbing again as he fumbled on his face, his nimble fingers which were gripping his hair and face so tight earlier were now giving him soft, gentle and almost apologetic manner. He _couldn’t_ understand him. He couldn’t understand how he could switch from being the seductive, fiery and vengeful man into a quivering, unconfident and mumbling mess like this in a matter of seconds, “d-did you…did you enjoyed it, Takahiro…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading~


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last one! I apologize about this shit. Until we all meet again hohohoho~

 

“House arrest?”

Takahiro gently tilted his head when Tomoya suddenly appeared beyond the threshold of the bedroom. He was dressed to go out for a charity event today— _anonymous and hiding from everyone’s view, of course_ —when the annoying seaweed-haired yakuza suddenly popped out of thin air.

“Hai!” he beamed, “Aniki said it’s your punishment from running away last time! You really shouldn’t be doing that stun anymore, ne, Taka-chan?” Tomoya then pouted, making Taka roll his eyes in irritation, “We both don’t want you to spend time in that place again, right, Taka-chan?”

Taka’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the meaning behind those words.

That _place_.

That dark, windowless place that mentally scared Taka and broke him into fucking pieces. Toru-san had locked him before because of trying to make a deal with Satoh-san, and now, his right-hand man is not even being subtle in threatening him about it.

“Do you…” he said, staring down at his shoes as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world, “Do you think Toru-san would actually do that?”

“What? Lock you up and chain you in the bed?”

Taka grimaced but didn’t looked up. He thought that he had grown past those memories that kept haunting his dreams for weeks after the leader went into coma.

Hah. _It seems that I didn’t changed at all_ —still scared of that dark room, still scared of being chained like a pet—like a pleasure slave warming the bed while waiting for his _beloved_ —he nearly gaged—master.

“He had changed a lot,” he mumbled, “He’s not the Toru-san I know. He’s a stranger now—softer, spineless, _gentler_ —,”

“Pfffft!!!”

Taka’s eyes narrowed when Tomoya suddenly burst into a massive giggling fit. The yakuza was really into laughing his ass off so much that he even had to lean on the door jamb to support his body and to not just…keel over or something.

“What’s funny?”

“Y-you _ahahahaha_ —!”

Taka crossed his arms over his chest and blankly stared at the yakuza. He likes Tomoya the most in this house but if he would keep laughing and making high-pitched noises like that as if Taka just cracked the best joke in the damn century, he won’t hesitate to kick him in the balls—thrice, just to be sure that he won’t be able to reproduce mini-Tomo’s in the future.

“I can give you 5 seconds to tell me—,”

Tomoya wheezes.

“Five,” he started counting down, making the man freeze on his spot, “Four—,”

“Ack! Okay, okay!” he raises his arms in defeat before smiling sheepishly at him, “I’m laughing coz you’re saying funny things, Taka-chan!”

…

The grin on the green-haired man didn’t even falter at the bland, unamused stare that Taka is giving him, “I mean, Aniki being gentle and soft? Maybe to you—,” he knowingly blinked, making Taka almost choke in surprise, “but to everybody else? Hnnn... Do you know how many men Aniki had killed while searching for you? Do you know how many _fingers_ flew into the air, one by one? How many knifes were forced into someone’s gut? Do you know how much blood was shed as he politely asked around about your location?”

Taka swallowed—hard—willing his mind to flush out the images of bloods and knives and amputated fingers, dismembered bodies, and lifeless eyes from his imagination as he hovered on the unsaid question.

Do you know how many died for you?

“He was not gentle at all, if you would ask me, I’ll say that he became even more ruthless,” Tomoya explained, “He killed not minding the repercussions, not thinking if the persons of interest were tied with another clan. He killed like he’s a wild animal, not so composed and calm—unlike before he lost his memories—so, to think that he had become gentle?” the yakuza shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t think so, Taka-chan.”

Taka shuddered at that. He…he really can’t visualize the man—the redhead yakuza who’s giving him gentle looks and lingering gazes, the man who kisses him chastely and reverently, the man who…who lets Taka get away with strangling him and….and fucking his mouth like last night—is the same man Tomoya is babbling about.

There must be some kind of _mistake_.

Because Toru-san last night was…

Taka’s eyes glazed over as the images of last night came back to him. He couldn’t really remember much after he came— _violently and ruthless_ —into the confines of that hot, moist mouth—but he could faintly recall himself crying, doubling over and gripping the thin shirt on the man’s chest as he shook and tremble while wailing.

 

* * *

 

 

“W-why—,” he sobbed out, his lips quivering and tears falling down like raindrops on the man’s impassive face, “Why would you—why would you let s-someone like m-me to do that to—to you—?!”

Why did you allowed me to lead, to call the shots, to use you like that?!

_You’re supposed to be strong!_

_You’re supposed to fight me!_

_You’re supposed to get mad and punish me for running away, for ruining your plans and worrying you as fuck!_

_You’re supposed to be the one—the one using me, fucking me into oblivion until I can’t remember my own name!_

You’re supposed to be—

You’re—

He was _hurt_.

Even after coming like there’s no tomorrow, even after relishing at the sight of the redhead leader almost choking on his dick earlier, Taka was still undeniably hurt. It hurts so fucking much to be left alone like this—to be abandoned like a pitiful kitten in the dark, dangerous alleys.

It hurts to see him every day, talk to him every day knowing that this man deserves all the pain in the world but Taka couldn’t properly hurt him because he’s not him.

He’s not Toru-san.

He’s not _my_ Toru-san!

“Because,” with his blurry vision, Taka watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tried to speak as clearly as his raw throat and fucked mouth would allow him, “Because it’s you—,” Takahiro whimpered, the pain slicing right through his heart—smooth and fast, deep and precise—, “Coz I’ll do anything if it’s for you—,”

“Then!” Takahiro snapped, a fresh set of tears streaming down his flustered cheeks, “then why won’t you come back? What do you want me to do?” he asked, his lips quivering in anger and desperation, “Do you want to tie me up with your tie again? Do you want to fuck me inside a dressing room again? Do you want to chain me on your bed,” he heard the redhead grunted at that, “Do you want to lock me up, do you want me to please and ride your cock—we—we could even recreate our first meeting, you know? I can…I can smash another guitar on your head and maybe…maybe you would…you would go back to me…maybe _my_ Toru-san would come back to me…”

He cried. He _cried_ and mourned that night for something—for someone who’s not gonna come back for ever.

And the asshole never gives him a verbal response. He just lied there, eyes gleaming amidst the dimly-lit room, his hand rising to gently wiped the fat, glob of tears forming at the rim of his already puffy eyes.

And then Taka ran away.

He was so angry that the man wouldn’t answer him, wouldn’t take his offers—he was so mad that he locked himself in the bathroom and cried himself to sleep.

He couldn’t remember how he made out of that expensive bathroom. When he wakes up late this morning, he’s already on the bed, clothed with new sleeping-wears and smelling like someone had bathed him or something.

 

* * *

 

 

“So be a good boy and don’t try to leave, ne!” Tomoya brightly continued, unaware that Taka’s mind had flew away already a few moments ago. “Aniki won’t really like if you act like that again.”

_Then he could just punish his naughty kitten, don’t you think so?_

Taka bit his lip as he fidgeted on his spot, “Where is he right now?”

“He’s somewhere in Hokkaido dealing with stuffs. He’ll be back before dinner soon to discuss matters with _Aizukotetsu-kai_.”

“The second largest yakuza group who supported Satoh-san before?” Taka’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Is he having a hard time dealing with those people? Didn’t they just announced a new head of the family because the old geezer got ambushed or something?”

“Hnnn,” Tomoya scratched the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. Ever since Toru-san woke up, the two started keeping secrets and facts from him—like, now that their original master is back, Taka is suddenly shoved away in a corner—far away from the dealings and shits of the family, “Yeah, they did replace their oyabun for the mean time...but he’s not really well-versed in the underground stuffs. Masato-dono was studying in America all these time and he’s not really interested in dealing or expanding their tuff, so he can’t see why there’s a need to exchange sake with the Yamashita clan.”

_Masato, huh…?_

He had never heard that name before, never seen his face, but maybe…

A familiar glint shone on Taka’s eyes as he turned around and went back to sit on the large bed, completely ignoring Tomoya’s confused questions. He hummed, sliding his fingers across the soft, smooth sheets before he smiled.

Maybe he can play a big role in my plans to force Toru-san back to his older self…?

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re not going to _Aizukotetsu-kai_ ’s celebration of succession.”

Toru watched in his peripheral view as aka’s knife halted slicing onto his steak. They’re having their usual dinner, the four of them in the manor despite having jetlag’s from his travel from Tokyo to Hokkaido and vice-versa.

Tomoya and Ryota nodded in agreement, their cheeks puffed out like chipmunks as they keep on chewing their food. The two have probably expected his decision considering the bad blood between their clan and the _Aizukotetsu-kai_.

“Why not?” Takahiro asked in a feigned uninterested manner. He stopped eating, but his hand is still tightly gripping the metal knife, “I mean, isn’t this a good chance to mend ties with them?”

“We’re not mending the ties that they _severed_ during the mafia wars, Takahiro,” he simply answered and waited for an outburst. The man didn’t even greet him when he got home a few minutes ago. Instead, he found the singer busy on preparing meals, humming the familiar tune of the song haunting his dreams. For a moment, he couldn’t believe that Takahiro actually heeded to his commands and stayed home—he looks so _determined_ to fuck things up for Toru last night, so there’s obviously something that’s going on inside that pretty little head of his.

“The sin of their past leader should not be passed onto his successor,” he said, waving his knife in the air, “Besides, I want to meet this Masato-person—,” Toru’s eyes narrowed, at the same time that Tomoya choked on his meat, “He seems to be an interesting person.”

_Crack_.

Ryota looked up from his food to nervously look at the leader’s expression when the loud sound of his chop sticks filled the air. Tomoya is no better, since he started pouting, looking at Takahiro with a _withering_ gaze, “Don’t fucking tell me you’ll…”

Toru stared at his chopsticks, deeming it still usable before he started eating once more.

“We’re not going,” he ignored the glaring from the younger man, “And that’s final.”

He can see Takahiro gripping his knife tightly, and god knows how much the curly-haired man wants to plunge that sharp metal into his body for denying him. Takahiro didn’t resumed eating, instead he opted for glaring holes at the side of Toru’s head.

“If you want to stab someone,” he finally said when a few minutes passed with the man still glaring the ever-living daylights out of him, “Make sure you to push it deep—,”

Taka’s eyes grew wide at that.

“—and twist the knife while it’s still inside the body, Taka-chan~!” Tomoya added.

“—to ensure that he’s dead,” Ryota finished, nodding in content, “or that he’ll surely end up losing a shit-ton of blood.”

Takahiro gaped, his eyes wide in horror, probably in disbelief that they just blurted out stuffs like knives and blood and ensuring the enemy’s death over the dining table. And in a very casual manner.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re teaching me how to kill someone,” he muttered before letting go of the knife, eyeing it with _disdain_ as if the cutlery is a disgusting piece of shit. Toru smugly grinned at that sign of defeat. “Now, I remember why I fucking hate all of you suit-wearing bastards—,”

Tomoya, wearing a normal hoodie, raised his hand to object, “I’m not—,”

“Especially you, seaweed-hair,” Taka gritted out through clenched teeth, making the green-haired yakuza whine in distress.

“I think you’re just still mad for being in house arrest,” Toru said, effectively gathering the dark-haired man’s attention, “You missed the charity event, right?”

Takahiro instantly straightened up on his seat at that., attentive and wary—which is good. Toru nudged his bowls away, leaning forward to cradle his chin with his fingers, “Since when did you even started funding foundations and orphanages, huh, Takahiro?”

He had expected some fidgeting, violent shaking of his body and bursting into tears because of fear—Takahiro knows what he’s doing, and he’s also probably aware of the consequences of taking keeping shady business from the Boss.

But instead, Takahiro—after a few moments of hesitation—looked up, meeting his gaze head on and the quivering of his full lips couldn’t sully the determined expression painted on his face.

“Since when you started _trusting me too much_ to sign papers without even reading them,” he deadpanned, making Tomoya and Ryota mournfully shook their heads. “It’s your fault. And it’s not like I’m spending the money for clothes or other luxurious shits—the old you would know how I despise those stuffs,” his narrowed eyes grow softer the next second, “I’m using it to assist people who…have Hiroki’s…my brother’s condition who needs medical attention,” he explained, “…and the orphanages…” he shrugged, looking lost—and for a moment, he actually looked younger, looked more like his age—very unlike the cunning, seductive brat he was in the past few weeks.

Toru licked his lips, his mind deciding that it’s a nice moment to remember the stuffs they—or Takahiro did, to be exact—to him last night after waking up and seeing a head splattering into pieces before that. He found it weird, how Taka could easily ignore the gruesome instances of yesterday’s events but maybe, their romp on the sheets took his mind away from those memories.

“If you really want to go,” he finally said, “I can go with you the next time you visit the orphanage.”

“And risk the safety of the kids?” Takahiro sneered, “No offense meant but you’re like a walking _bomb_ , Toru-san. It’s either your enemies would target the kids or you’ll blow the entire place up when you get pissed off by the little brats.”

Toru blinked, “I’m offended.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“I won’t blow up a place filled with kids,” he said, “I won’t even blow up any place coz it’ll be a hassle to clean the mess up.”

…

…

…

Three pairs of eyes landed on his frame with the same look of disbelief. Toru knows that look—it always appears whenever he would say something that contradicts his past self’s actions.

“Hnnn, so I _did_ ,” he blandly admitted, “I probably did? But for what?”

“For some blow job in the backseat of your car,” Takahiro blurted out without missing a heartbeat. Ryota and Tomoya started banging their foreheads onto the hardwood table, the green-haired yakuza muttering something like, _“where did my prude Taka-chan had gone to?!”_ and Toru was so tempted to correct him and say that Takahiro is not his _, he’s mine_ but decided against it.

This is not the right time for that, especially when Taka is looking at him with tired eyes, like he’s reminiscing something so old, something that happened a long time ago. _Still, I can’t believe I blew up some place just for a measly head?_

He leaned back on his chair and regarded the singer with a tilt of his head, “Well, was it good?”

Taka smiled—the little shit batting his eyelashes on his cheeks like the seductive bastard he is. He wonders how the “prude” Takahiro acts, and for once, he’s curious on how this…curly-haired man acts and talks before their world—before Toru had completely wrecked him.

“You said something like, _Taka, Takahiro, god!”_ Ryota and Tomoya let out strangled, obviously _uncomfortable_ sounds at the back of their throats—the low voice from those full, silken lips torturing the should of the poor yakuzas—, “and that my mouth is _good, so fucking warm and tight_.”

“Oh,” Toru numbly nodded, setting his gaze onto the very expensive painting hanging on the far wall across him while desperately trying to ignore the tell-tale signs of his crotch tenting at the thought that Takahiro gives mind-shattering blow jobs, “Well, that’s… probably _worth_ me making places explode like shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think, nee?


End file.
